


Vengeance

by elle1991



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dark Steve Rogers, Evil Steve Rogers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Steve Rogers, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Steve Rogers, Revenge, SHIELD, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991/pseuds/elle1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The thought of joining HYDRA made him feel sick. He would never join such an organisation. Never.</p><p>But then Bucky Barnes – his best friend, his everything – fell from the train, and everything changed.”</p><p>A HYDRA!Cap fic.</p><p>Whose side is he really on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling

HYDRA first approached Steve Rogers, with the intention of recruiting him, in Austria during 1943.

‘Approached’ may be the wrong word. In actual fact, Steve had broken into the HYDRA base where the 107th Infantry Regiment had been imprisoned and was in the process of helping the prisoners of war escape the facility.

There had been explosions all around, and the Swiss Nazi scientist Dr. Zola had been shouting at him above the noise, telling him that there would always be a space in HYDRA’s ranks for a super-solider such as himself if he ever found himself disillusioned with the false promises of America and the so-called free world.

Steve had shouted back that he would rather die than join the ranks of HYDRA, glaring furiously as Dr. Zola scuttled away to regroup with the Red Skull, before he had slipped into a side room and found Bucky lying flat on his back, muttering to himself, and rescued him.

The rest, as they say, was history.

Steve, Bucky, and five other men he had rescued from the HYDRA base that day – Jacques, Dum Dum, Morita, Gabe and Monty – had formed an elite fighting group called the Howling Commandos, battling HYDRA across Europe.

They had made a formidable team. The first few times they raided HYDRA bases, all operatives had put up resistance, fighting to the death.

But as the Howling Commandos' reputation became more widely known, HYDRA fighters would often scatter if they heard they were coming; either running away or simply crunching down on their cyanide capsules – always using their last breaths to proclaim how if one head of HYDRA was cut off, two more would take its place – their throats rasping as they succumbed to the cyanide poison, hatred in their eyes.

Steve often thought about Dr. Zola’s offer to join HYDRA, wondering what kind of twisted individual would willingly join such a wicked organisation. He despised bullies, and HYDRA, obsessed with complete global control and the killing of any _undesirables_ , represented the very worst of humanity.

The thought of joining HYDRA made him feel sick. He would never join such an organisation. Never.

But then Bucky Barnes – his best friend, his everything – fell from the train, and everything changed.

 

* * *

 

It was Peggy Carter who found Steve later that night, sitting alone in a bombed out bar, knocking back glass after glass of whiskey.

He wanted to numb the pain that was clawing inside of him. But the ache in his chest, the hole in his heart where Bucky used to be, was a physical pain that refused to fade.

“Dr. Erskine said that the serum wouldn't just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells,” he said carefully, when Peggy didn’t say anything. “Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means, erm, I can't get drunk. Did you know that?”

Peggy pulled out a bar stool and perched on it, looking at Steve with equal parts caution and sadness. “Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects.”

Steve drew in a ragged breath, held it, and let it out. When he rubbed his hand roughly against his eyes, it came away wet.

He realised, like a punch in the gut, that Bucky would never enjoy the taste of whiskey ever again.

He would never have another Christmas, never see another sunrise, never go home after the war. Whilst the rest of them would grow older and get to experience life, Bucky would remain frozen in time, forever 27, never aging a single day.

_No!_

Steve picked up the bottle of whiskey and hurled it across the room. Hearing the glass shatter, even seeing Peggy flinch at his uncharacteristic fit of violence, did nothing to cool the rage that burned inside him.

_Bucky was gone._

For a moment his vision completely whited out as he gritted his teeth, holding back the scream that threatened to burst out of him. His ears throbbed as his heartbeat accelerated, memories of Bucky – his kindness, his voice, his questionable sense of humour – all thundering through Steve’s mind in disjointed images.

He felt hatred like he’d never felt before coursing through this veins, making his hand shake as he slowly lowered it to rest on the table.

“The people responsible for Bucky’s death,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to stop until every last one of them is dead or captured.”

He closed his eyes and slowly repeated the words to himself in his head, a silent promise, suddenly feeling a lot calmer as he accepted what he had to do.

When he opened his eyes they were a clear, cold blue.

He would hunt down every last person responsible.

He would avenge Bucky’s death.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, the Howling Commandos received intelligence that there was a HYDRA cell based in the nearby Austrian village of Hallstatt, with Dr. Zola reportedly being one of the men stationed there.

Steve, Jacques, Dum Dum, Morita, Gabe and Monty got their weapons together and set out on their motorbikes towards the village, hoping that the sound of their engines in the still night would not give the HYDRA operatives too much prior warning of their approach.

Steve stared hard at the road as the cold Austrian air whipped past him, thinking about his promise to Bucky: _The people responsible for his death. Every last one of them. Dead or captured._

He set his shoulders in a determined stance. He would get the chance to set the wheels of his plan into motion tonight, if all went well.

The Howling Commandos reached a bend in the road and Steve slowed to a halt, causing the others to do the same.

He switched off his engine and pushed his motorbike to the side of the road, concealing it amongst the shrubs that formed the edge of the woods before turning to face his team.

“Right, everyone. This is our first mission since…” He faltered, his voice wavering momentarily. “This is our first mission since we lost Sergeant Barnes. You know the drill. Capture if you can, but kill if necessary. But leave Dr. Zola to me.”

A few of the men exchanged confused expressions.

“Bucky died trying to capture him. He was my best friend. I need to be the one to get him – in Bucky’s honour.” He glared at the five men defiantly, daring them to question his command. None of them did.

With quick nods of understanding, the men silently made their way towards the village, heading towards a large wooden house that they had been informed was in fact a HYDRA lair.

For a brief moment, a quiet stillness came over the group. The Austrian night was cool and dark, the lake that the village was nestled against seemed tranquil, and owls could be heard hooting in the woods they had just ridden through.

The quietness was broken when Steve aimed a hard kick against the front door, splintering the wood and triggering a hail of gunfire from inside.

The six Howling Commandos threw themselves to the ground to avoid the bullets whilst firing their own weapons at the same time.

Steve heard three heavy thuds from inside the doorway. The gunfire stopped.

“Three down!” Monty said cheerfully, as he heaved himself up.

A bullet whizzed dangerously near his head and the six men threw themselves into the house, dispersing to hunt down as many HYDRA operatives as possible.

Steve found himself sprinting up three flights of stairs to the top floor, where he expected Dr. Zola to be based, when he almost ran straight into the man as he rounded the final corner.

The scientist’s eyes widened with shock and he took a deep breath, presumably to call for help.

Steve clamped his hand down hard around the man’s face, stifling his cry, and pushed him roughly against the wall.

“You’re coming with me, and you’re not going to make a sound. Understood?” he said in a low voice.

A HYDRA operative came running up the stairs calling Dr. Zola’s name, coming to a sudden halt with a shocked expression on his face when his eyes fell on him being pinned to the wall by Captain America.

A bullet between the eyes felled him before he could even raise his weapon.

Steve put his smoking gun back into his holster and glared at the snivelling man in front of him.

“Make a sound and the same thing happens to you,” he warned.

Dr. Zola nodded weakly and didn’t struggle as Steve picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

Now came the tricky part, getting out of the house without any of the other Howling Commandos noticing. Gunfire was still being exchanged downstairs, so Steve made a quick calculation and fired two shots at the window to shatter the glass before running and jumping through it.

Dr. Zola let out a strangled cry as they plummeted down four stories towards the ground, but Steve’s super-soldier body was easily able to absorb the shock of the landing.

Not even pausing for a second, Steve sprinted towards the woods, not stopping until they were deep inside the trees, darkness pressing in all around them.

The noise from the gun-battle at the house was muffled now, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the air.

For a moment, neither one of them spoke.

“Are you going to kill me, Captain?” Dr. Zola’s voice had a strange quality to it, strained but at the same time resigned, as if he had long ago accepted that this was to be his fate.

Steve was silent for a long moment before replying quietly. “No.” He took a deep breath, knowing that once he took the next step of this journey, there was no going back. “I want in. I want to join HYDRA.”

The seconds trickled by, the silence pressing in from all sides; it seemed as though the wood itself was holding its breath.

“Why?” Dr. Zola’s voice, when it finally came, was laced with suspicion.

Steve clenched his fists, his fingernails biting painfully into his palms as he tried to keep his voice from wobbling. “For Bucky,” he managed, before having to take a deep, steadying breath. He was glad for the darkness, as it meant the Swiss scientist was unaware of the tears that were making tracks down his cheeks. “Bucky was fighting for America. For SHIELD. If they hadn’t ordered him to board that train and fight you, then -” his breath hitched. “Then he’d still be alive today.”

To Steve’s amazement, Dr. Zola chuckled. “It’s a nice try, Captain. A nice performance. But you can’t expect me to believe that America’s greatest icon would turn against his country for the sake of one man, this _Bucky_.”

With a snarl, Steve grabbed Dr. Zola by the throat, spinning him around and pressing him up against the tree. He could feel the Swiss struggling pathetically against him, hear horrible choking sounds coming from his throat, but he didn’t care.

He pressed his forehead against the other man’s, knowing that his tears would run onto the other man’s face but not giving a damn about that either as he spat out his next words.

“He was more than _just one man_. His name was James Buchanan Barnes but he hated the name James so he always insisted people call him Bucky. When he was a kid he was scared of the dark and he would always insist I stayed in bed with him when we had sleepovers, so we could keep one another safe. His favourite fruit was blueberries. He loved to flirt, to have a good time. He always kept this stupid spinning top with him that I won for him at the Christmas fair last year, because however much he’d pretend otherwise, he was a damn sentimentalist.”

He let go of Dr. Zola’s throat and the man sucked in huge gulps of air, retching as he doubled over in pain.

“Don’t you ever tell me that Bucky was _just one man_ , just some guy who didn’t matter! He was the most important person in my entire world and I am _not_ going to stop until every single member of SHIELD is dead, OK? They killed him, so I’m going to _destroy_ them, and if HYDRA wants to help me do that or get in the way, that’s your choice. But I’m telling you, I’m in, I’m going to avenge Bucky’s death. Til the end of the line.”

His voice broke as he said the last bit, remembering how Bucky had once said those words to him, after his mother’s funeral.

Dr. Zola had regained control of his breathing and Steve could feel the scientist’s penetrating gaze in the darkness.

“HYDRA is everywhere,” he said eventually, his voice fast and low. “If a HYDRA operative wants to speak to you, they will identify themselves by saying this phrase: _‘Crazy weather – my Great-Aunt Mabel would have had a heart attack’._ In reply, you must say the following: _‘I know, my cousin Doreen would have loved it though.’_ ”

Steve became vaguely aware that, in the distance, the shooting had stopped.

Dr. Zola put both arms in the air in a salute, his eyes wide with excitement, a definite tone of triumph in his voice. “Welcome, Captain! Hail HYDRA!”

Steve Rogers felt a surge of satisfaction go through his chest at the words. Without hesitation, he raised his arms as well, whispering that same phrase into the darkness. “Hail HYDRA!”

 

* * *

 

The following evening he stood in an abandoned barn, waiting for his contact to arrive.

The place was deserted. There were no houses for miles around, which meant that no one would interrupt them.

Such a thing was very important when you were plotting grand treachery against an organisation you were meant to be loyal to.

He heard the other man approaching and pulled out his gun, flicking off the safety catch just in case.

His contact seemed to have anticipated this, entering the barn slowly with his hands raised.

One look at him told Steve he was unarmed, and he lowered his weapon.

“Evening,” he said evenly.

“Evening,” echoed the operative. He looked hard at Steve for a long moment, before getting straight to business. “So, you want to take out the scum that killed your friend?”

Steve nodded tightly, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists.

“You realise you’re going to have to make them trust you, don’t you? You’ll have to be their friend, worm your way into the heart of their organisation. You may have to do things that go against your principles. You’ll be playing the long game, finding out every person responsible and taking them out discreetly. None of that going in all guns blazing nonsense you did with the Howling Commandos. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve nodded, standing up straight.

“You’ll need to pretend to be someone you’re not. You’ll be in deep cover. You’re going to have to think like them, talk like them, act like them, if you’re going to make them trust you. If the time comes that you have to make a tough call, and do something you’d rather not, for the greater good, will you be able to do that?”

“I will, sir,” he said out loud. _For Bucky, I’ll do anything_ , he added in his head.

“In that case, I guess the only thing left for me to say is good luck.” The operative held out his hand and Steve shook it firmly before putting both arms in the air.

“Hail HYDRA!” he shouted.

The operative looked at him for a long moment, obviously appraising him but saying nothing out loud. “Hail HYDRA,” he replied eventually, with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos were ordered to take 2 weeks leave by Colonel Phillips after the failure to capture Dr. Zola from the HYDRA safe house in Hallstatt.

He was packing his bags when a young blonde man came sidling up to him. He was wearing an American military uniform but Steve couldn’t recall having seen him before. A new recruit, then.

“Can I help you, son?” he asked out of politeness.

In reply, the young man gestured up towards the sky, which was a dark, menacing grey. “Crazy weather – my Great-Aunt Mabel would have had a heart attack,” he said casually.

Steve felt his mouth go dry and his heartbeat skyrocket. As calmly as he could, he replied, “I know, my cousin Doreen would have loved it though.”

The young man nodded minutely before walking away from the camp. Steve stood and followed quickly, wondering what HYDRA thought was so important that it warranted walking straight into a US military camp.

As the two of them rounded a corner, the young man stopped, looking at Steve intently. “We’ve captured a SHIELD agent,” he said triumphantly. “We intercepted him as he was about to leave Austria. Dr. Zola would like you to take care of him personally, sir.”

Steve was silent for a moment as he absorbed this information.

The young HYDRA operative was looking at him eagerly, obviously in awe of the fact that he was speaking to HYDRA’s most shocking new recruit, Captain America himself.

“Where is he being held?” Steve asked sharply. “Do you have his name?”

The young man rattled off the address in a hurry. “And I don’t know the captive’s name, sir.”

Steve nodded slowly, before dismissing the man, promising to be there by nightfall. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion or curiosity by following the young man straight away.

He walked briskly back to where the rest of the Howling Commandos were gathering together the last of their belongings.

“Ready for the journey to England, Cap?” Monty asked jovially. “I have to say I’m rather glad that Colonel Phillips decided that that should be where we recuperate for the next 2 weeks! Means I get to see my girl, make sure she’s not been misbehaving without me, if you know what I mean!”

He laughed, and Steve smiled politely, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking about taking out this anonymous SHIELD agent.

 _For Bucky_ , he reminded himself. _This is about vengeance._

“Why don’t you guys head off now?” he said. “I’ll meet you all in England. I want to stay a bit longer; I need to do something by myself to pay my respects to Bucky.”

Well, that last part wasn’t strictly untrue.

“Sure thing, Cap,” said Dum Dum, a look of kind understanding on his face. “We’ll see you there.”

Steve watched as the five Howling Commandos rode away from the camp on their motorbikes, painfully aware that there should have been a sixth member riding out with them – Bucky.

He felt the anger sparking inside him at this fact, and that rage was still burning one hour later as he rode out on his own motorbike, heading towards the location the HYDRA operative had given him earlier, cold steely determination pumping through him with every heartbeat.

It was dusk by the time he arrived at the location – an old factory by the looks of it, dilapidated and seemingly abandoned long ago.

He wrapped his fingers around his pistol and entered the building.

The young blonde man who had delivered the message to him earlier was there, waiting just inside the doorway.

“This way, sir,” he said, smiling eagerly as he led Steve down a long, narrow corridor. They walked quickly down some steps into a wet, dank basement. Old oil lamps where hanging from hooks embedded in the walls, casting the room in an eerie yellow light that danced and moved as the candles flickered.

A man was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Patches of blood were visible on the front of his shirt and a hood was pulled over his head.

He was moaning softly, although Steve couldn’t tell if it was through pain or through fear.

“Unmask the SHIELD agent,” came Dr. Zola’s voice from behind him.

Steve jumped, he hadn’t even noticed him when he’d entered the room.

A HYRDA operative stepped forward and pulled the hood roughly from the prisoner’s head, revealing messy dark brown hair and a face that, even contorted in pain, Steve had no trouble in recognising.

“Steve?” The man looked at him in desperation, the confusion clear in his strained voice.

“Howard,” Steve replied, in a much cooler, more even tone.

Dr. Zola stepped forward, clearly enjoying himself as he twisted his hands together and smiled widely. “Howard Stark was captured trying to leave Austria. When interrogated, he admitted that he had been part of the SHIELD team that had sent your friend James Barnes on the mission to extract me from the train!”

His voice rose to a shout as he reached the end of the sentence, his eyes bright with excitement in the candlelight.

Two HYDRA operatives untied Howard from the chair and kicked it aside, forcing him to stand in between them. They kept a tight hold of his arms to prevent him from running.

“This is the opportunity you have been waiting for, is it not? To wreak vengeance for your friend?”

Steve didn’t reply, choosing instead to simply raise his arm out in front of him, the pistol aimed straight at Howard Stark’s forehead. He felt the same rage he had earlier, white hot, pumping through his veins. Hatred was a tight ball in his chest.

“Any final words, Howard?” he said, his teeth gritted.

Hot, wet tears were leaking out of the corners of Howard’s eyes. “What’s going on, Steve? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you _rescuing_ me? You realise these guys are _HYDRA_ , right?”

Steve gave Howard a look of utter contempt, not bothering to hide the scorn in his eyes.

“I know,” he said, before firing the pistol once.

Howard Stark was dead before he hit the floor.

 

* * *

 

When Colonel Phillips ordered him to board the Red Skull’s plane and disarm it before it blew up half the civilised world, Steve had no option but to obey.

It was easy, of course, once he was on board, to locate the Red Skull and engage him in conversation.

The Red Skull knew that Steve had recently been recruited by HYDRA and so there was no need for the two men to fight.

It soon became obvious, however, that the Red Skull had become completely deranged; obsessed with Old Norse mythology, quoting ancient religious scriptures as if they were fact. He started ranting about the power of the cube, saying that he would soon become a God, before putting the plane into a steep dive.

“What are you doing?” Steve yelled, as the plane plummeted downwards.

“I will be able to control this plane through the power of my mind!” the Red Skull declared. “Just you watch, once I master the power of the cube I will be able to control the elements themselves!”

With that, he seized the cube in his bare hands, his mouth wide open in an insane scream.

Steve watched in horror as the Red Skull was literally torn to pieces by the power of the cube, before it fell to the floor, melting the metal as if it were mere snow, before dropping out of the bottom of the plane.

Steve stood frozen for a long moment as he struggled to mentally absorb what he had just witnessed, before he came to his senses and lurched towards the plane’s controls.

He could see an Arctic landscape approaching alarmingly quickly, the sterile, white ice promising nothing but death.

He wrestled with the plane’s levers, finding, to his horror, that they were unresponsive to his touch. He wrenched them upwards repeatedly, to no avail, realising quite suddenly that there was no way for him to divert the plane from its downwards trajectory.

He gazed through the cockpit window; the ice was much closer now. He estimated he had around 1 minute before the plane crashed into the frozen peninsula.

_Ice. Mountains. A train thundering through the Austrian Alps. Bucky. Falling. Ice, snow, cold._

Steve rubbed the tears from his eyes.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, that he was dying.

 _I will see Bucky again, soon_ , he thought, praying to God that they would both meet again in the afterlife.

He imagined Bucky’s face, the image crystal clear and beautiful in his mind. His sea-blue eyes, the surprising softness of his brown hair, the way he laughed, the way he smelled – earthy and masculine and warm.

He started to laugh, even though nothing was remotely funny about his situation. The sheer strength of his relief that he would be reunited with Bucky once again was simply enough to make him laugh and shake with emotion, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m coming for you, buddy!” he shouted, his eyes wide with fear as he watched the ground rushing up to meet him. There were 3 seconds to impact at the most. He remembered the way Bucky’s arms felt around him when he’d pull him into a tight hug, the sound of his voice, the sound of _home_. “I’m here for you! Always! Til the end of the -”

The plane entered the ice with a terrific jolt.

Steve Rogers was thrown against the window, knocking him unconscious immediately.

He wasn’t to re-awaken for over 70 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO: Hi there, thank you for deciding to give this story a go; I know that Hydra!Cap is not everyone's cup of tea. Even if you're dubious about Hydra!Cap, I hope you enjoy the story. It's definitely one that you need to read to the very end in order to understand the "true ending" (and that's not just me trying to get you to read it all because it's mine, it's... something you'll have to trust me on). If you're up for reading on, thanks again and I hope you enjoy the ride; it's going to be a crazy one :)
> 
> TUMBLR: I am on Tumblr. This is [me](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/)! Feel free to have a stalk/follow me/message me if you're feeling friendly :)
> 
> STORY ART: I created a couple of graphics [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/169652020971/vengeance-a-hydracap-fic-the-thought-of-joining) and [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/170503464721/the-thought-of-joining-hydra-made-steve-feel-sick) to accompany this story. If you're on Tumblr, feel free to show them some love and/or share them! <3


	2. The Enemy Within

He woke slowly.

There was a deep ache running through his whole body; his muscles felt painfully tight, his joints horribly stiff.

As the ache started to demand more of his attention, he started to become more aware of his surroundings: the clean, medical, sterile smell of the air and the softness of the sheets beneath him. This was not what he was expecting after crashing into the ice.

_The ice..._

His eyes snapped open, instantly alert, as his fingers clumsily tried to rip the IV out of his arm whilst he simultaneously trying to throw himself out of the bed. His muscles, shockingly tight and clumsy, gave out beneath him and he crashed to the floor, the IV wrenching out of his arm with a jerk.

Doctors came rushing into the room, lifting him back into the bed and talking quickly to one another, pointing at a strange screen displaying lines and numbers. It was like one of Howard Stark's ridiculous machines, expect far, far more complicated-looking.

"Where am I?" It hurt to speak, his throat felt rough and dry as the words tumbled over one another in panic.

"You're in a SHIELD medical facility in New York," said a calm voice to his left. A slim, middle-aged man stepped forward from behind one of the doctors, wearing a navy blue suit and a kind smile on his face. "We found you in the ice and transferred you over here immediately. The doctors will need to do some tests, but at the moment they don't think you've suffered any permanent damage."

Dozens of questions flooded through his mind, all clamouring for his attention. In the end, the first thing he asked was, "How did you find me?"

"An Arctic research vessel came across you accidentally. When they realised what they'd found, we got brought in."

Steve scrunched his brow in confusion. "But no one's doing scientific missions in the Arctic right now. All countries are focusing their scientific and technological efforts on the war."

The man waved his hand at the doctors and they took this as a signal to leave the room. As the door closed behind the last doctor, the man drew up a chair next to his bed and sat down on it, looking at him intently.

"I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself. I’m Agent Phil Coulson. I’m with SHIELD." He stuck out his hand and Steve shook it automatically. "It's an honour to meet you."

"Steve Rogers," he replied.

"Captain Rogers." Coulson paused, clearly thinking carefully about what he was going to say next. "You've been asleep. For over 70 years."

Time seemed to stretch as if on an elastic band, the world slowing right down as Steve absorbed this terrible information.

_Asleep for over 70 years?_

Everyone he knew would be either dead or ancient. His breathing felt constricted as the reality of the situation sank in. It wasn't just his friends and family who would be dead by now, but the whole way of life he was used to. The whole world had changed and moved on, without him.

For the first time in his life, Steve felt alone.

Something else that Coulson had said suddenly hit home. "You're with SHIELD?"

Coulson smiled encouragingly. "That's right."

Steve sat silently. SHIELD lived, 70 years on. Did that mean that HYDRA had managed to keep going over that length of time too, or had SHIELD destroyed them at some point over the last seven decades? He decided it was best not to bring up the topic of HYDRA yet, so as not to arouse suspicion.

Instead, he tried to sit up. "I want to see it," he said.

"What do you want to see?"

"The world." His voice broke as he said it, his mind still reeling from the revelation that he'd missed out on most of the 20th century; that his time, _his home_ , was gone.

Coulson nodded and stood, crossing quickly to the door, sticking his head out and calling for someone to enter.

A few seconds later, another man entered the room. He was well-built and looked to be in his early 30s, with dark hair and brown eyes that were peering at him with the same intensity that Coulson's had earlier.

He approached the bed briskly and stuck out his hand. "Agent Brock Rumlow," he said.

Steve shook his hand and was surprised by how tightly Brock gripped it. "Steve Rogers."

Brock smirked and chuckled. "I know."

"Captain Rogers would like to take a look outside. I think the viewing gallery in the visitors' wing sounds like the best location, don’t you?" Coulson asked. Brock nodded. "Captain Rogers, you may find it difficult to walk unassisted. Agent Rumlow and I will help you if needed."

Steve nodded and gingerly tried to stand. His legs shook, not used to any kind of movement after being frozen for so long, but this time he at least managed to stand up without falling over.

Agents Coulson and Rumlow stepped up to either side of him and he let them slip their arms around him, finding it was possible to hobble if they supported his weight.

They slowly made their way out of the room and down a white, bright corridor. Steve noticed more of those brightly coloured monitors in other rooms that they passed. Eventually they reached the end of the corridor and Coulson pressed a button in the wall. Two metal doors immediately opened and the three of them stepped into the lift.

"This is an elevator. It moves between floors," Coulson said.

Steve frowned. "I know what an elevator is. They were invented before I was born."

Coulson flushed but Steve didn't see, having just noticed the SHIELD insignia emblazoned on the back of the lift. It had changed slightly from his day but was still clearly recognisable. As he gazed at it, a rush of emotion rose in his chest and he had to lean momentarily against Brock for support. The other man’s hand tightened around his waist to support his weight.

The lift slowed to a halt and the doors opened with a gentle ding.

As they stepped out, Steve felt his breath catch in his throat. They were stood on a viewing platform overlooking the city.

"Welcome to New York City, the 21st century," he heard Brock murmur next to him.

He swallowed hard and shuffled forwards until his hands were flat against the glass as he stared out across the city.

It was still recognisably New York, that was for sure, but so much had changed. It was so much bigger than it had been back in his day and there were skyscrapers poking into the sky that he didn't recognise. There were lights and electronic signs everywhere. Whole areas looked alien to him.

He felt a pang of longing and homesickness in his chest – _his_ New York was gone, consigned to the history books.

Brock pointed to a thunderstorm rolling in from the east. "Crazy weather. My Great-Aunt Mabel would have had a heart attack."

Steve froze, his hands on the glass suddenly sticky with sweat. He slowly turned his gaze to Brock, who was again looking at him with the same intensity as before, a dark smile ghosting over his lips.

"I know," Steve said slowly. "My cousin Doreen would have loved it though."

Brock nodded slightly before pressing his finger to his lips, casting a wary glance towards Agent Coulson, who was sitting down with his back to them, looking out at the cityscape.

Steve raised a questioning eyebrow and Brock shook his head. Steve understood the meaning: Brock was HYDRA, Coulson was not.

He hobbled over to Coulson, desperate to ask another pressing question. "My friend was killed during the war. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes from the 107th Infantry Regiment. Did you manage to recover his body? When I went into the ice he still hadn't been found."

Coulson bowed his head. "I'm sorry. His body was never recovered."

Steve felt his legs start to tremble underneath him. "You've had over 70 years," he said icyly. "Did you even look for him? Really look?" His voice was shaking with suppressed rage.

_Over 70 years and Bucky was still lying alone in some Austrian ravine..._

"Military and SHIELD personnel searched the area. We did look, sir." Coulson looked pained.

"Not hard enough!" Steve didn't realise he was shouting until he felt Brock's hand gripping his arm.

"Captain!" he said sharply. "Keep it together." He gave Steve a warning look.

Steve made to turned away, but his eyes caught sight of the SHIELD insignia on Brock's arm. He stared at it hard.

 _The enemy lives_ , he thought bitterly _._

Over 70 years had passed and they still persisted, like a bad smell lingering in the air.

 _Not for much longer_ , he resolved.

He would complete his mission.

He would find the head and bring their whole organisation to a bloody, permanent end.

 

* * *

 

Steve was not allowed to leave the SHIELD medical facility for the next two weeks, as the doctors conducted an array of tests to try to determine what effect, if any, being frozen for such a long period of time had had on his body.

During that fortnight, he requested, and was given, a sketchpad and pencils.

He spent his spare time drawing buildings and people from his past: the neighbourhood he grew up in, his school, the New York skyline as he remembered it from the 1940s, the Army training ground where he had stayed before being transformed from little Steve Rogers into Captain America.

He drew his mother, achingly aware of how although from his perspective she had died only 5 years ago, in actual fact it was more like 80 years. The strangeness of it troubled him, and so he kept drawing, pouring out his longings and frustrations onto the page. The sketchpad filled up quickly.

He drew the Howling Commandos, busying himself with the details: the exact shape of Morita’s eyes, the bushiness of Dum Dum’s large moustache, the thickness of Gabe’s dark eyelashes, the quirk of Monty’s eyebrows and the pointiness of Jacques’ nose.

When he reached the last page, the sketchpad was full of memories; images of a lost time, a lost life.

But there was one person missing, because no matter how hard Steve tried, he simply couldn’t bear to draw Bucky.

As he stared down at the last page, he sighed and finally began to draw his best friend.

An hour later, anyone else would have looked at the page and exclaimed at the lifelike illustration of James Buchanan Barnes. But Steve gripped his pencil in misery and frustration. He hadn’t quite got his face shape right, hadn’t quite captured the curve of his lips, had parted his hair a few millimetres too far to the left.

It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t true to Bucky.

In a fit of rage, Steve ripped out the last page and tore it into tiny squares, letting the rest of the sketchpad fall to the floor.

Climbing into bed, he curled up as tightly as he could.

Over 70 years had passed and Bucky was still rotting on some Austrian mountainside.

He balled his hands into fists and dug his fingernails into his palms until it hurt. He choked back a sob and buried his damp face into the pillow.

He would punish those who had caused Bucky's death. Quietly, so no one else would ever hear, he breathed two words into the pillow’s soft plushness, “Hail HYDRA.”

 

* * *

 

The doctors concluded that Steve had suffered no lasting damage as a result of being frozen, and so he was technically free to go.

Technically, not _actually_ , because although he was perfectly healthy and had regained his strength, he was homeless, as his house had been demolished around 50 years ago as part of a neighbourhood rejuvenation project.

Agent Coulson returned to the SHIELD medical facility to talk to Steve about this problem.

“The US Army has agreed that you should be paid a full Captain’s salary, backdated for the past 75 years. We’ve also managed to get the government to pay you the money that you had in your bank account when you went into the ice – it’s been adjusted to reflect inflation.” Coulson handed him several sheets of paper containing his bank account details.

Steve’s eyes widened when he saw the figure in his account, it seemed like an obscene amount of money. “Is this correct?” He could scarcely believe the numbers typed on the page.

“It is.” Coulson smiled gently. “Now, with regards to where you’re going to live from now on, you basically have two options. Option one, you can buy or rent a place of your own and start a new life away from the Army and SHIELD.”

Steve nodded. “And option two?”

“Option two, if you choose to accept it, is free accommodation with a special group of SHIELD agents.”

“Is there a catch?” Steve frowned.

Coulson paused, a small smile on his lips. “The group in question is nicknamed the Avengers. They’re a small group of individuals with exceptional powers. They’ve worked together to battle against various threats, including once saving the world from an alien invasion lead by a Norse God.”

Steve looked at Coulson incredulously, suddenly concerned that the mild-mannered agent had gone mad. “You’re kidding, right?”

Coulson’s smile grew wider as he shook his head, pulling out an envelope and emptying its contents onto the table in front of them.

“These are pictures from the alien invasion of New York a few years ago. The Avengers managed to neutralise the alien threat and save the lives of thousands of civilians.”

Steve stared at the photographs in astonishment. Large metal creatures were floating through the sky and gross humanoid figures were riding on what looked like flying motorbikes.

“How on earth did six guys manage to defeat all this?” he muttered.

Coulson’s smile widened even further into a toothy grin. “Four guys, two girls, actually. And like I said, they’re a very exceptional group of individuals.”

He spread out photographs of the six people in question.

Steve looked at the first picture, which showed a smiling man in his 40s with curly brown hair, brown eyes and thick glasses. “He doesn’t look like such a tough guy,” he commented.

“This is Dr. Bruce Banner, AKA the Hulk. He’s a scientific genius. He also turns into this guy,” Coulson said, pointing to another photograph which showed a huge green man with bulging muscles.

Steve felt his jaw drop as he picked up the second photograph. “How is this even possible?”

“Dr. Banner was trying to replicate the serum that Dr. Erskine used on you. It didn’t go to plan.”

Steve swallowed. “Who else?”

Coulson pushed two more photos towards Steve. “These are the twins, Wanda Maximoff and Pietro Maximoff. Also known as Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver. They both have special abilities. Wanda is telekinetic and telepathic, and Pietro is really fast. Like, _really_ fast.”

Steve studied the pictures. Wanda was a tall, slim woman with long light brown hair and dark blue eyes. Her brother Pietro had a slim, athletic build but was fairer, with light blonde hair and pale blue eyes. They both looked to be in the very early 20s.

“This fourth guy doesn’t have any special abilities, apart from maybe being super annoying,” Coulson said thoughtfully. “But he’s a tech genius and he’s built himself a flying suit. Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man.”

“Stark?” Steve asked sharply, studying the pictures of Tony both in and out of the metal suit.

“Oh yes, you may have met his uncle, Howard? Tony is Howard’s twin brother’s son, you might see the resemblance. If you chose to join the Avengers initiative, you’d be staying in Mr. Stark’s tower.”

Steve nodded. He could definitely see the resemblance between Howard and Tony. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, he gestured quickly for Coulson to move on.

“And finally, Natasha Romanov AKA Black Widow, and Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye. They don’t have any special abilities either, but they’re two of our best agents and fighters.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Why do they all have nicknames?”

Coulson shrugged. “It just kind of happened organically. In the same way that you’re Captain America. The public see these guys as superheroes, and every superhero needs a cool name, right?” He had a twinkle in his eye.

“So if I choose to join the Avengers, what will happen exactly?”

“Well, first of all, you’ll move into Avengers Tower and get to know the team. Once you’ve settled in, we’ll ease you into missions. I can’t promise there’ll be another alien invasion any time soon, but you never know.”

Steve was silent for a moment.

“And if I choose not to join?”

Coulson looked surprised. “Well, I guess you could enjoy your retirement. God knows you’ve earned a bit of peace and quiet. You could feed the ducks in the park, play a bit of bowls, perhaps.”

Steve snorted. Peace and quiet indeed.

All the same, this was probably something he should run past HYDRA first.

“Let me think about it, sir,” he said seriously.

Coulson smirked.

 

* * *

 

“Do it,” Brock said immediately. “Join the Avengers. Man, you have no idea how useful it’ll be for HYDRA to have an inside man with that little band of freaks.”

Steve frowned. “Don’t call them freaks.”

Brock laughed harshly. “What, you don’t think a big green hulk, a guy with super speed and his creepy little witch of a sister count as freaks?” He shook his head, cracking his knuckles as he repeated the offending word. “Freaks.”

“I’ve got to think like them if I’m going to join them. I can’t exactly call them freaks when I’m meant to be their new best buddy.” Steve’s voice was cool and controlled.

Brock nodded slowly, looking at him with an expression of new-found respect. “You’re right,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You’ve got to become one of the freaks. Go deep cover.”

Steve nodded, bored. He’d already had this conversation, with the man in the barn seven decades before. “So is it fine with HYDRA, if I accept Coulson’s invitation to join the Avengers?” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, impatient to get the work immediately.

Brock nodded, a wicked smile forming on his face. “Yes. My God, HYDRA inside the Avengers, at the heart of SHIELD. I never thought it’d happen. You’re going to be right in there with that bunch of freaks. The enemy within. This is so freaking perfect.” The look of pleasure on his face was almost obscene.

Steve smiled darkly in agreement.

_The enemy within._

 

* * *

 

Steve hadn’t gone to Avengers Tower with any particular expectations of what the Avengers would be like, but he was somewhat taken aback by the lack of a warm welcome he received.

It wasn’t that any of them were unfriendly; they just all seemed slightly distant and a little bit _odd_.

Coulson had given him a guided tour of the tower, showing him where he would be living, where the kitchens and communal living areas were and where the gym and training areas were, as well as the locations of all the fire exits.

Throughout the whole tour, however, they had not encountered any of the Avengers themselves.

As it turned out, that was because they were all engaged in rather unusual activities.

They came across Clint and Natasha first. Coulson was just showing Steve how to work the coffee machine when Steve heard a thump behind him.

He turned quickly to see a stocky man with sandy hair straightening up, seemingly having just dropped down from a ventilation shaft in the ceiling. He looked at Steve and Coulson in surprise, mouth twisted in confusion, when a dark shape appeared from the shadows and tackled him to the floor.

“I win,” Natasha smirked, as Clint gestured indignantly at the new arrivals in the kitchen.

“That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

Natasha shrugged and stood gracefully, her red curls bouncing, seemingly unbothered by the lack of fairness. She helped Clint to his feet and the two of them peered at Steve who was standing next to the coffee machine, his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise.

When he realised this, he closed it quickly before hurrying forward with his hand outstretched. “Steve Rogers. Agent Coulson has put me on the Avengers initiative for a probationary period. I’ve just moved in.” He smiled nervously.

Clint stepped forward and shook his hand. “Clint Barton. It’s good to have you on the team.”

He didn’t say anything else so Steve turned his gaze to Natasha, who hadn’t moved from where she had tackled Clint to the ground. “Hello, Ma’am,” he said.

Natasha didn’t reply, choosing instead to simply watch him, her head cocked slightly to one side.

“Erm…” Steve looked at Coulson for support, his eyes pleading _help_ because he didn’t know what to do.

Luckily, he was spared the torture of breaking the increasingly awkward silence as Clint and Natasha chose that moment to quickly slip away back down the corridor and disappear from sight.

_Were all people in the 21 st century this strange?_

“They’re good people,” said Coulson, with a gentle smile. “They just need some time to warm up to new people. They’ll need to know they can trust you before they open up to you.”

The next Avengers they came across were Pietro and Wanda.

Steve and Coulson were sat in one of the communal living areas when they heard footsteps approaching. Steve could hear the two of them laughing and speaking some Eastern European-sounding language as they came closer.

 _At least they talk, unlike Natasha and Clint_ , thought Steve.

As the siblings rounded the corner and saw the two men sat on the sofas, they seemed surprised, but did approach them with smiles.

“You must be Steve!” said the brother, switching effortlessly to English. “I’m Pietro, nice to meet you.”

Steve smiled, grateful for some normal social interaction. “That’s right. It’s great to meet you too.” He looked at the sister, who was hanging back. “You must be Wanda?”

Wanda nodded, still standing just too far away for a handshake. “That’s right,” she said, sounding awkward for some reason. Steve stood to shake her hand but she immediately took a quick step back. “You should know, when I touch people, I can sometimes see flashes of their thoughts and feelings.” She sounded embarrassed. “I’ve not learned to control that yet.”

“Oh OK,” said Steve, secretly relieved that she had given him the warning. _If she had touched him and seen his connection to HYDRA…_ Quelling the uneasy feeling in his stomach, he plastered a fake smile on his face and said, perhaps a bit too cheerfully, “How about a wave instead then?”

She laughed softly and gave a small wave, before Pietro suddenly looked comically horrified, blurting out, “Oh God, I left the oven on!” before taking his sister by the waist and seemingly vanishing from view.

Steve stood dumbfounded for a second before he remembered Pietro’s super speed ability. “Wow, he is fast,” he muttered. “Do you think he really did leave the oven on? Something seemed off about the way he said it.”

Coulson shrugged. “Who knows? Don’t take it personally though. Wanda’s a bit of an introvert and Pietro’s very protective of her.”

Steve nodded, wondering if Tony or Bruce would be any friendlier.

His question was answered about a quarter of an hour later when the two aforementioned men stumbled into the living area. Both their clothes looked grimy and they each had stubble that suggested they hadn’t shaved recently.

“Oh hey, a Capsicle!” exclaimed Tony, his eyes wide and red, as if he hadn’t slept for days. As it turned out, that was exactly why he was acting so strangely. “Is it OK if I call you that? Or how about the Spangles? You know, because you’re the Star Spangled Man.” He let out a high pitched giggle as he made a beeline for the coffee machine before doubling back, having apparently only just noticed Coulson. “Hey Agent Agent!”

Coulson groaned. “How long has it been since you last slept, Tony?”

Tony cocked his head to the side, frowning. “I got up at 9am this morning, what’s weird about that?”

“Actually, sir, you got up at 9am three days ago,” came a dry British voice from the ceiling.

Steve jumped.

“That’s JARVIS. He’s an artificial intelligence who babysits Tony,” Coulson explained.

Steve nodded, pretending to understand.

“Three days, huh.” Tony looked momentarily confused, before falling face-first onto the sofa next to Coulson, snoring heavily.

Bruce sighed heavily and sat down on the sofa next to Steve, moaning slightly before also falling instantly asleep.

Steve blinked at Coulson, who chuckled. “They are geniuses, I swear,” he said. “They’ve just clearly been on a – what do they call it? – a ‘science bender’.”

 

* * *

 

The first time they went on a mission together was one month later.

During that time, Steve had been assessed and confirmed as mission-ready, and he had been training with his teammates regularly. Despite having lived and trained alongside them for a month, however, he still didn’t feel like he’d been truly accepted as part of the team.

They were all polite, but their interactions with him were purely professional. He didn’t feel like he’d managed to get closer to any of them, and there had been several instances where he had walked in on them having a group meal or film night without him.

This didn’t bother him as such – after all, he wasn’t there to make friends – but all the same, Brock kept asking how he was doing at infiltrating the Avengers and he was starting to feel like he should be making more progress on that front.

He was thinking about this as he suited up for their mission: a drugs gang was expecting a huge delivery of guns and heroin at Konnor’s Fish Factory – an old fish canning factory at New York docks – and the Avengers were to intercept the delivery and capture the suppliers and the gang members. To help with this, they had been given ‘night-night pistols’ that knocked targets unconscious rather than killing them.

As they rode out in an armoured SHIELD van, Steve felt a rush of adrenaline at being back in action. For a moment, he forgot all about his real mission – avenging Bucky – and focussed on the one at hand.

They arrived at the docks and the seven of them slipped out of the van and split into two teams, as agreed.

Steve, Tony and Bruce made their way into the factory and Clint, Natasha, Wanda and Pietro dispersed to hide amongst the large metal containers that peppered the docks.

Steve looked at his watch: 23:45. The delivery was expected at midnight.

He scanned the area carefully through his goggles, switching between simple night-vision and heat-sensing modes with the flick of a button.

Tony had cracked jokes about him being clueless with modern technology, but although all these contraptions were new to him, he was far from stupid and had learned how to use them with ease.

All the same, after a while he started to get a prickling feeling on the back of his neck, as if he were being watched.

He scanned the area behind him with the goggles, but they came up blank. “Tony, Bruce,” he whispered over comms. “Can either of you see anything behind us?”

The two men scanned the area with their own goggles before replying with the negative. “Why, what’s up?” questioned Bruce.

“It just feels like someone’s watching us, that’s all,” he muttered.

“Maybe it’s Wanda, with her mind magic,” joked Tony.

“I can hear you, you know,” came Wanda’s slightly offended voice, over comms.

“Quiet!”

Everyone fell silent at Natasha’s command.

There was radio silence until 10 minutes later, when Clint’s hushed voice came over comms. “Two cars have just pulled up closest to you, Pietro.”

“4 men in the first car, 3 men in the second,” came his hushed reply. “The guys from the first car are carrying a wooden crate. This is it, everyone.”

Steve watched the scene unfold using the night-vision filter. Clint, Natasha and Wanda silently crept to join Pietro and on the count of three they shot all seven targets using the night-night pistols.

All seven fell to the ground and the four Avengers ran up to apprehend them using handcuffs and leg restraints.

It was a quick job, over in less than two minutes. Steve felt uneasy. “I thought this was meant to be one of the biggest drugs gangs in New York?” he questioned sharply.

To his right, Bruce shrugged. “I guess they’re not as well organised as SHIELD thought they were.”

The back of Steve’s neck was still prickling like crazy. “This has been too easy. Check the crate,” he ordered, a sense of dread spreading through his body.

Pietro vanished for a moment, returning a second later with a crowbar. He stuck it under the lip of the crate and heaved it open before peering inside. He was silent for a moment.

“Well?” Steve demanded. “What do you see?”

“I don’t know.” He sounded confused. “It just looks like a load of old newspapers.”

Steve jumped up immediately, hurling himself behind a piece of machinery. “Everybody, take cover, this is a trap!”

As if on cue, a bullet whizzed through the air and struck the ground where he had been squatting just a few moments before.

Looking up, he saw around 10 men emerging from underneath some kind of reflective sheeting. As they did so, they immediately became visible on his heat-sensitive display.

“We have multiple assailants! They seem to be using some kind of sheet that’s shielding them from view on both night-vision and the heat-sensitive cameras.”

He heard Bruce swear as he narrowly avoided being hit by a hail of bullets that the attackers sprayed down in their direction.

Shouts over his earpiece confirmed that the four Avengers on the docks were also coming under attack.

It was a nightmare; the Avengers had been expecting to intercept a simple drugs and ammo sale, not to come under attack in an organised ambush. This mattered most for Tony, who had come wearing a standard SHIELD combat uniform rather than one of his suits.

“Stay close,” said Steve, catching his eye. Tony nodded.

They waited for a pause in the gunfire that indicated that they were reloading their guns and chose that moment to fire their night-night pistols. They managed to take down six before one of the men reloaded.

“Four hostiles left in here,” Steve shouted. “How’s the situation out there?”

“Around twenty hostiles remaining,” came Natasha’s tense reply. “Clint and I have taken out around ten, and Wanda’s managed to knock out four using her powers. Pietro’s checking the whole New York docks area, getting any civilians out. Now would be a good time to suit up, Bruce.”

Steve saw the scientist nod once before sprinting towards the exit of the factory. As he ran, Steve watched his clothes start to split as he grew rapidly in size.

Snapping his attention back towards the four hostiles, he saw them all turning and pointing their weapons towards Tony.

His heart rate skyrocketed as he realised he had no time to shout a warning to Tony, who was too busy aiming his night-night pistol at one of the hostiles to notice that the other three had trained their weapons on him.

Without thinking, he threw himself onto Tony, knocking the smaller man to the floor and roughly manoeuvring his legs to make him as compact as possible. A hail of gunfire rattled off his shield, the bullets falling to the floor where Tony had been standing, unprotected, just a split second before.

Gripping his night-night pistol in his right hand, Steve squeezed off two shots at the nearest hostiles. They fell to the floor immediately.

The other two paused momentarily, possibly shocked at being faced with the iconic Captain America shield.

Steve took advantage of their delay to quickly shoot the final two hostiles unconscious.

Wiping sweat from his brow, he helped Tony to his feet. “You OK?”

Tony nodded mutely, looking shocked from his very near brush with death.

Steve glanced him over quickly and, satisfied that the other man wasn’t bleeding, pressed his finger to his ear, where his comms device has slipped out slightly during the battle.

“All hostiles have been knocked unconscious in here. How are you doing out there?”

“All hostiles unconscious too,” came Clint’s reply. He was breathing heavily. “Brucie boy took care of most of them.”

Steve heard a groan, presumably from Bruce, which meant that he must have reverted back to his normal size.

“Pietro’s just handcuffing them all now, before they wake up.”

Steve saw something flash past him and turned, immediately on his guard. Pietro materialised a second later, giving him a quick smile of reassurance, before cuffing the ten unconscious hostiles inside the factory at super-speed.

“All done,” he said, when he’d cuffed the last hostile and returned to normal speed again.

“OK, time to withdraw,” said Natasha. “Another SHIELD unit has just arrived to collect all these guys.”

As the Avengers rode in the van on the way home, Tony finally spoke.

“Thanks for saving me back there, Steve. If you hadn’t been there I’d have been a goner.” He spoke seriously, with none of his characteristic snark. That was enough in itself to make the others sit up and pay attention.

“What happened?” Wanda asked curiously.

“Steve saved me from four of those goons who decided to gang up on me. Threw himself on top of me with his shield and pushed me to the ground. Kinky,” he added with a grin.

Steve sighed, shaking his head but secretly pleased. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered, before realising something else. “Hey, that was the first time you’ve actually called me Steve.”

Tony snorted. “Don’t get used to it, Capsicle.”

The rest of the ride back took place in silence.

Later that evening, when Steve was lying in bed in his room, he was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said, surprised. He’d never had a social visit before.

Wanda stepped into the room, tugging nervously at the edges of her sleeves. “Do you want to join us for dinner? Bruce is cooking Indian tonight.”

Steve found himself smiling. “Sure,” he said, before following her out.

As they approached the kitchen, he was greeted by the mouth-watering smell of chicken and spices. “Mmm, something smells good.”

Clint paused when he heard him enter, before crossing over to the fridge. “Fancy a beer?” he asked.

Steve nodded politely and, just like that, the seven of them slipped into relaxed banter.

Steve found himself relaxing for the first time since he’d woken from the ice, enjoying the food, drink and company, when the lift doors opened with a quiet ding and Agent Coulson stepped into the room.

“Good evening, team,” he said, although the expression on his face implied the evening was anything but good.

“Evening Phil,” everyone chorused back (actually, Tony said, “Evening Agent Agent”).

Ignoring Tony’s quip, Coulson sat himself down at the head of the table and looked at them all seriously.

“The gang seemed to know we were coming tonight. They were prepared. They set up an ambush.” His tone was deadly serious. “SHIELD suspects a mole.”

There was silence around the table and Steve could feel the atmosphere in the room change instantly, turning from relaxed and cosy to one of tension and distrust.

“You think that someone in SHIELD warned the gang that we were coming?” Clint asked, incredulously.

Steve thought of Brock and felt his heartbeat accelerate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wanda turn her head towards him slightly and he immediately tried to fill his mind with blankness.

“Unfortunately it would seem so. No one outside of SHIELD knew about the mission tonight, not even New York Police Department.”

A sombre silence fell over the group.

“We’ll find out who the mole is,” Clint said eventually.

“And when we do, we’ll kick their ass,” Tony added vehemently, clearly thinking of his earlier near-death experience.

Steve kept his mouth closed and his expression neutral.

He had to warn Brock Rumlow.

 

* * *

 

The next time that Steve saw Coulson was a week later.

He heard a knock at his bedroom door and called, “Come in,” thinking it would be one of the others, who had taken to dropping in on him to hang out since he had earned their trust in the mission the week before.

“You might want to open the door. My hands are a bit full,” came the muffled reply.

Steve recognised Coulson’s voice and strode quickly to the door, wondering what he wanted.

When he opened the door, he saw why Coulson had been unable to open it himself. In his arms was a heavy-looking wooden gramophone with a huge, ornately-patterned horn.

Coulson peeked his head out from behind the horn. “Do you think you could give me a hand?”

Steve took the gramophone from him and carried it over to the desk in the corner of the room, marvelling at its quality.

“Of course, you can put it wherever you want,” Coulson smiled.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “This is for me?”

Coulson nodded. “Think of it as a welcome-to-the-21st-century gift.”

Steve murmured his thanks as he ran his fingers over the mahogany wood.

Coulson settled himself into an armchair. “I figured you might want some items from your own time, to help you feel at home as you adjust to modern life. Speaking of such, how’re you settling in?”

“My teammates are great, sir. They make an effective squad.”

Coulson sighed. “That’s not what I mean. How are you settling in to _now_ , this time period?”

Steve was silent for a moment as he gazed out of the window, looking at the New York skyline but not really taking it in. “It’s strange, sir. Miss Potts helped me to trace people I used to know. Turns out none of my family are still alive. And the last member of the Howling Commandos died last year; I just missed him.”

“It must be hard.”

“Like you can’t imagine, sir.” Steve jumped slightly when he felt Coulson’s hand on his shoulder; he hadn’t heard the other man get up.

Coulson rubbed his shoulder gently. “You can call me Phil, you know; you don’t have to call me ‘sir’. And you can always come to me if you want to talk about things if they’re bothering you. Or if you ever just want to hang out. I want to be your friend as well as your commanding officer.”

Steve flashed him a smile before asking, as casually as he could, “I meant to ask you about that, Phil. I know that you’re my boss, but who’s your boss? Who runs SHIELD? I was never given any information about the hierarchy of SHIELD when I was drafted into the Avengers initiative.”

He kept his tone light and friendly, but his heart was hammering inside his chest.

Finding out the identity of the head of SHIELD was a vital part of his plan to avenge Bucky’s death.

Coulson shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Steve, you’re not authorised to know that information. SHIELD works in such a way that every agent only knows the identity of their immediate superior. That way, if we get infiltrated, one agent can only do a limited amount of damage.”

Steve huffed with frustration. “But sir, shouldn’t at least the Avengers know the identity of the Director? What if something were to happen to you while we were on a mission?”

Phil’s face remained impassive. “If something were to happen to me, another agent would take my place.”

Steve tried not to let his anger show as he decided to play the Captain America card. “Can’t _I_ at least know? When I put that plane into the ice, I did it thinking I was going to die. I was willing to die for SHIELD. Don’t I at least deserve to know who I died for?”

This time, Coulson crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’m well aware of your sacrifice, but I can’t give you any more information. The rules say that every agent can only know the identity of their commanding officer. I can’t make exceptions, especially when we suspect there’s a mole in the organisation.”

Steve stopped pressing. It wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion. “Alright. I’m sorry, sir. It’s just very different to how we did things back in my day.” He smiled ruefully. “Thank you so much the gramophone by the way, I feel more at home already.”

Coulson’s expression brightened up immediately. “Really?” he said eagerly.

“Sure,” Steve said out loud, and pulled him into a hug.

In actual fact, it didn’t make him feel at home at all; he’d never owned a gramophone back in his own time.

Still, Coulson didn’t need to know that.

Lying was easier.

 

* * *

 

“SHIELD suspects a mole,” he said, upon entering Brock’s apartment.

Luckily for him, he’d learnt early on that conversations held in Avengers Tower were not private, as all rooms were fitted with microphones for the benefit of Tony’s artificial intelligence, JARVIS.

“You’ve got to be more careful. Why did you tip off the drugs gang anyway? They almost took me out.” Steve knew he was overstating the danger he’d actually been in, but he’d lost a fight with Clint in training earlier in the day and he wanted to vent his frustrations.

Brock grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and settled down on his sofa with Steve, throwing his legs out, his toes touching Steve’s thigh.

“I heard you sorted them out alright,” he smirked.

Steve huffed in annoyance, taking a swig of his beer. Alcohol didn’t have any effect on him, but he still enjoyed the taste.

“I am sorry about that though.” To Brock’s credit, he did actually look sorry. “I didn’t know that you’d be part of that mission. I thought SHIELD would just send in one of their normal teams, not the Avengers.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s fine. But be careful; don’t go tipping people off willy nilly. Coulson’s determined to find out who the mole is.”

For some reason, Brock smiled. It was dark, dangerous and made Steve’s heart beat a little faster, although he couldn’t say exactly why. “I won’t be tipping off any more of HYDRA’s little allies, don’t worry. We’ve got a bigger mission coming up that we’re focusing all our attention on.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve took another swig of his beer, curious.

“I can’t tell you any details, but has Coulson told you about the SHIELD Helicarriers?”

Steve shook his head.

“They’re basically these massive flying aircraft carriers, with some special modifications. HYDRA are gonna do something freaking glorious with them.”

He didn’t elaborate and Steve didn’t press for more; Brock had already said he couldn’t provide any further details.

They were suddenly interrupted by Brock’s mobile phone going off. Steve had learnt about mobiles, and even had one himself, but he still hadn’t got quite used to the fact that everyone was now basically reachable 24/7.

“Hello? Yes... How bad is it?” Brock sat up straight, his eyebrows pulled into a frown. “OK, fine… Send in the Asset.”

He hung up the phone, his expression grim.

“Who was that on the phone? The head of HYDRA?”

Brock snorted. “As if the head of HYDRA would call me. No, that was just my superior officer.”

“Is there any point in asking who that is?”

Brock smirked. “Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’.

Steve sighed. “What’s the Asset then?”

At this, Brock looked at him pensively, clearly thinking hard. “The Asset’s nothing important. It’s just a weapon that we use.” For some reason, he found this funny, because he let out a low laugh.

“Who’s in charge of HYDRA?” Steve asked out of curiosity.

Brock raised his eyebrows. “I’m not telling you that, pal.”

“But you know?”

Brock made a non-committal noise that Steve took to mean ‘yes’ and Steve slammed his beer down on the coffee table in frustration.

“I feel like I’m being kept in the dark about everything! Coulson wouldn’t tell me who the head of SHIELD is either.”

“You didn’t expect him to just _tell_ you, did you? It’s going to be tough. No one knows the names of any agents more than a level above their own commanding officer.” He glanced at Steve with a small smile on his lips. “I have the feeling Coulson might tell you eventually though. You’ve just got to worm your way in there. Bat those pretty eyelashes of yours, charm your way to the top.”

Steve stared absent-mindedly at the stubble on Brock’s jawline as he absorbed his words.

“I intend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE ASSET: So, Hydra have The Asset. Captain America: The Winter Soldier fans will know exactly what that refers to. How do you think Steve will react when he finds out about it?
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "Charm" and will involve Steve worming his way into the affections of those whom he needs to get close to in order to achieve his goal.


	3. Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating for this fic has gone up from "Teen And Up Audiences" to "Mature". This is because the last scene of this chapter contains sexual content.
> 
> If you do not wish to read this content, please skip the last scene, which begins with the line "He went straight from there to [character's name] apartment, buzzing with triumph.". The only thing you need to know is that Steve and this character are entering into a sexual relationship. It will be the only mature/sexual scene in this fic.

Steve was charming.

He had always found it easy to get along with people.

He was friendly, polite and personable. People liked him. He had a calm demeanour that put people at ease, a warm smile that made people trust him and a way of acting that made everyone feel like he was their best friend.

He considered his charm to be one of his greatest weapons, on par with the enhanced physique the serum had given him.

His mother had always told him, _you capture more flies with honey than you do with vinegar_ , and he strongly believed this statement to be true.

What made his charm such an effective weapon was this: the people he was targeting didn't even realise that they were being targeted.

He'd learnt this lesson early on in life: that if you fight with someone, they never cooperate. But if you charm that person instead, they follow you willingly.

He knew that in order to get Coulson to reveal the head of SHIELD, he was going to have to utilise his charm to maximum effect.

To do that, he needed to gather intelligence on what made Coulson tick: his likes, his dislikes, his _weaknesses_.

And to do that, he needed to use his charm to wheedle this information out of the people who knew Coulson best: the other Avengers.

 

* * *

 

He went down to Tony's workshop in the basement a few days later, with the pretext of having a problem with his smartphone.

"Hey Tony," he said, waving as he entered the organised chaos of the workshop. "Do you have a moment? Something's happened with my phone."

Tony pushed his goggles onto his head, rumpling his dark hair in a way that reminded Steve of Howard; their resemblance was uncanny.

"Sure thing, Capsicle," he said, gesturing for JARVIS to turn off the loud rock music that had been blasting out of the speakers. "What's up with it?"

Steve handed over the phone to Tony. "The camera's just showing my face. How do I make it switch to the camera on the back?"

Tony laughed as he gently pressed a single button to switch the camera. "You're starting to show your age, Cap!" he winked.

Steve blushed. "In my defence, I am over 90 years old," he said. "You should be proud of me for being able to use it at all!"

They lapsed into silence for a moment.

Steve was thinking hard about how best to bond with Tony. He didn't know very much about the man, other than that he was an obscenely rich tech genius.

To fill the silence, he said the thing that had popped into his head when he'd first entered the room. "You look an awful lot like your Uncle Howard."

Tony hopped up to sit on one of the workbenches, his legs dangling. "Yeah, him and my Pa were identical twins. The lucky guys inherited my dashing good looks."

Steve snorted. "You mean you inherited theirs."

Tony shrugged, his smile fading into an expression of solemnness. "His body was never found. Did you know that? He left the base in Austria perfectly normally, but he never arrived in Switzerland. Somewhere along the way he went missing. We're still not sure if he was involved in some accident or if the Nazis or HYDRA managed to get their hands on him."

Steve thought of Howard, standing stock still in horror as he stared down the barrel of Steve's pistol. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

Tony waved his hand, sighing. "I'm OK, I never knew him." He paused. "It's my Pa, Harold, who I'm worried about."

"Why are you worried?" Steve asked curiously.

Tony squirmed, kicking his legs and twisting his hands together. "You don't want to know, it's just boring family stuff."

"All my family are dead," Steve said softly. "I'd be honoured to hear about yours."

For a long time, Tony didn't speak, choosing instead to gently pet a bot with a pincer-like claw that had just rolled up to him. "Hey there, DUM-E," he murmured to the bot, which gave a seemingly contented chirp in response. "Wanna say hello to your new friend Steve?" He nodded his head towards Steve.

DUM-E swivelled its claw to look at Steve, before slowly rolling up to Steve, its claw stretched out towards him in curiosity.

"It's OK," Tony said to Steve. "Give him a pat, he's just saying hello."

Steve reached out a hand and awkwardly patted the bot on the claw. "Hi DUM-E," he said, feeling slightly foolish for talking to a machine. "Is he like JARVIS? An artificial brain?"

"Artificial intelligence," Tony corrected him. "And yes, though not as advanced as JARVIS. JARVIS is a genius; DUM-E's more like a child." _My child –_  the words hung in the air, unsaid but warm and implicitly understood.

Steve nodded and crouched down to DUM-E's height, gently stroking the bot's claw and smiling into its camera. "How're you doing, little buddy?"

DUM-E let out a long chirp and rubbed his claw against Steve's hand.

Tony watched the interaction, a strange expression on his face as Steve stroked and whispered gently to his bot.

"My Pa is in a care home," he blurted out suddenly.

Steve looked up from petting DUM-E in surprise, before grabbing a chair from under one of the workbenches and pulling it close to Tony. He nodded for the other man to continue.

"He's dying, and he's losing his mind. He has Alzheimer's disease."

To Steve's amazement, Tony's eyes filled with tears. He'd never seen Tony cry, not even when he'd almost been killed at Konnor's Fish Factory.

He reached for Tony's hand and rubbed it gently. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Tony," he said sincerely.

Tony gave him a watery smile, muttering his thanks. "He forgets things all the time. A lot of the time he can't remember _whether_ he's eaten, let alone _what_ he's eaten earlier in the day. He's forgotten all about my Iron Man suits. He thinks I'm still at university, even though that was over 20 years ago." He paused. "He still remembers Howard though. He's always asking when he's going to come home. Whether he's been found yet."

The expression on his face was desperately sad.

"If I could have one wish, it'd be that Howard gets found before my Pa passes away. You have no idea how much that'd make him happy. All he wants is to have his twin brother back home and given a dignified burial. Me and Howard are about the only two people he can remember now. Bringing Howard home is all he talks about."

Steve bowed his head as he continued rubbing Tony's hand. "I'm so sorry, Tony. I remember Howard. He was a genius, a good man. A true patriot."

Tony shifted restlessly. "He's never going to be found. It drives me crazy; knowing he's out there, wanting to bring him home, but not knowing where the hell he is." He sighed. "I guess you must feel the same about your friend Bucky. I bet you'd do anything to have the chance to bring him back home."

Steve was silent, suddenly feeling a rush of sympathy for Harold Stark. He imagined the heartache, the hurt, that he must be going though, yearning for his twin brother for over 70 years.

He thought of the pain he felt every day at Bucky's loss, and then imagined feeling that every day for seven decades. Whereas he had been frozen throughout that entire time; Harold had lived every single day of it, suffering and struggling through it all.

He remembered Howard's eyes, wide and staring at him, immediately before he died. Guilt gnawed at his stomach.

"I saw Howard the day he went missing," he said slowly. "He told me he was changing his route and was planning on travelling through the border town of Feldkirch instead."

It was a lie, but he could hardly tell Tony about Howard's kidnap and his intimate role in it. If the information was enough for Howard to be found and brought back home before his twin Harold passed away, that would be good enough.

Tony visibly froze, staring at Steve with barely contained shock.

"He told you that?" he said, looking stunned. "Feldkirch? He definitely said Feldkirch?"

Steve nodded, pretending to frown in concentration. "Hmm. I'm pretty sure that's what he said."

Tony glanced up sharply. "JARVIS, send the Iron Legion to Feldkirch. Look online for old maps of the area from the 1940s. Look anywhere where he might feasibly have got lost or been taken by HYDRA."

"Yes, sir." JARVIS' reply was immediate.

Steve watched as 10 unmanned metal suits powered up and made their way towards the exit.

Tony was shaking as he watched them go.

"No one else knew he'd changed his plans. Thank goodness he told you." He lapsed into silence. "My Pa will be so pleased if we find him."

Steve avoided his gaze, already wondering if he'd done the right thing in telling Tony the location of Howard's body. 

"First you saved me on that mission, now you've potentially found my uncle." He gave a shaky laugh. "If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Steve gave a slight sigh of relief at the return of Tony's characteristic humour.

"Actually, there is something you could help me with," he said, as if he had only just thought of it.

"Shoot."

Steve smoothed down his blonde hair. "I want to do something nice for Coulson to say thank you for helping me to settle in to the 21st century. He's been so kind, visiting me to make sure I'm adjusting OK. Did you know he bought me a gramophone from my own time?"

"He may have mentioned it, yeah," Tony grinned.

"I want to do something nice for him in return, but I don't really know what he likes. I was wondering if you had any suggestions? You've known him far longer than I have." Steve shot him an eager smile.

Tony chuckled at his angelic expression, a thoughtful look coming over his face. "Agent Agent sure loves being cooked for. You know, a nice cosy meal in, not an expensive meal out in a restaurant." He shook his head, sighing dramatically. "He's such a homebody. In my books, nothing beats some expensive swanky restaurant. But not Phil, he prefers the smaller things in life."

Satisfied, Steve filed the information away in his mind, not forgetting to give Tony a winning smile. "Thank you, Tony." he said brightly. "You've been very helpful."

 

* * *

 

Natasha was a harder one to get close to.

She was quiet and tended to keep herself to herself.

Steve observed her when they had group meals and film nights together and noticed that she often sat slightly apart from the others. And even when she was physically sat in the middle of everyone, she would often not say much in their conversations.

It was a different kind of quietness to Wanda, Steve sensed. Whilst Wanda was quiet because of her shy and introvert nature, Natasha's silence definitely seemed to be her choice, and a choice that she was more than comfortable with.

After realising this, Steve came up with a theory.

He was able to put this theory to Natasha a few nights later.

He had been unable to sleep and was heading down the corridor towards the kitchen to get a glass of milk, when he realised the light was already on.

Rounding the corner, he found Natasha sat on a chair at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of green tea.

She looked up as he entered and he gave her a warm smile.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he queried, as he pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge and poured himself a glass.

Natasha shook her head, humming gently.

Steve put the carton back in the fridge and brought his glass of milk to the table, sitting down in the seat next to her.

For a few minutes they sipped their drinks in silence.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Steve said eventually.

Natasha shook her head and gestured for him to go ahead, her slim fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on her mug.

"Do you feel like an outsider?"

Steve watched as her fingers slowed to a halt, a thoughtful expression coming over her face. "What makes you think that?" she said, sounding curious.

"Well, it's just... I'd noticed that you don't always join in the group banter, and that you sometimes sit a bit apart from the others. It looked to me that you don't really feel like you're one of them."

Natasha turned towards him, the look on her face unreadable.

"Not that I'm criticising you or anything!" he rushed on. "I feel like that too, sometimes. I saw some of me in you, I guess. I just wondered if it's because you feel like an outsider too."

A tiny frown creased Natasha's forehead. "Why do you feel like an outsider?"

Steve looked down at his milk. "I was born almost a hundred years ago," he said quietly. "This world, now, it's not my home. I feel like a man out of time."

He felt her put her hand on his arm, rubbing it gently. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Thanks," he replied softly. "I guess I'll get used to it eventually. It's just that right now I'm having to learn about all the things I've missed out on. And the technology! You can't imagine how much the technology has changed over the last 70 odd years."

Natasha didn't speak, but her hand remained on Steve's arm and he found the weight of it strangely comforting.

"So was I right?" he asked eventually. "You didn't answer my question. Do you feel like an outsider too? Tell me it's none of my business if you don't want to say."

Natasha laughed gently. "It's OK. And yes, I do feel like an outsider. I was raised by the Soviets to be their spy. A deadly spy: The Black Widow. They owned me for most of my life; they took away my freedom, my ability to choose what I became, they made me into a monster."

She lifted her pyjama top to reveal her lower abdomen and Steve could see two scars: one jagged and thick, one straight and thin.

She pointed to the thin, straight scar. "They sterilised me, when I finished my training in the Red Room."

Steve stared at her in horror.

"It was efficient," she explained. "It ensured I'd never have any distractions; it meant there would never be anyone I'd put before them."

Steve chewed his lower lip. "But you managed to escape. You found SHIELD."

Natasha smiled, and Steve realised it was the first genuine smile he'd ever seen on the redhead's face. "Well, technically, SHIELD found me. But yes, I escaped."

Steve was silent for a moment. "Do you think you'll ever feel like you fit in?"

Natasha thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. "No, probably not," she said. "But what's so special about fitting in? I'm grateful to be part of a team I can trust. I'm grateful to Coulson for giving me a home. Fitting in isn't important to me."

Steve nodded slowly. "I'm thinking of cooking something for Coulson," he said. "As a thank you present for giving me a home and helping me to adjust to the 21st century."

Natasha hummed in approval. "He'll love that."

"Do you know what he likes? Tony wasn't really that helpful when I asked him what specifically Phil liked to eat."

Natasha snorted in amusement. "Tony doesn't pay attention to little things like that," she said. "Phil's favourite meal is tuna risotto. If you make him that, he'll love you forever."

Steve smiled and thanked her, before finishing off the last of his milk and slipping away from the kitchen back to his room.

 

* * *

  
Steve bonded with Bruce over their shared ability to keep calm despite the fact there was so much for both of them to be angry about.

He stumbled upon the man sitting cross-legged in one of the reading rooms one day, his eyes closed and a serene expression on his face.

Thinking that perhaps Bruce was praying, Steve hastily turned to leave but Bruce just called out lazily, "Don't leave on my account."

Steve paused and closed the door, choosing the sit in the chair furthest away from the scientist to give him space to do... whatever it was that he was doing.

Steve pulled out his sketchpad and started to draw, letting his hand fly over the page. The modern-day New York skyline started to form and for about 15 minutes Steve focused solely on this, allowing himself to relax and become absorbed in the artistic process.

Eventually, Bruce opened his eyes and stretched, looking graceful as he got to his feet.

Steve gave him a smile and closed his sketchpad. "What were you doing there?"

"Just meditating. I do it every day. It helps me keep in control of myself and stay calm."

Steve had wondered how Bruce managed to do that. "Is it to stop the other guy from coming out?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah. People don't really appreciate a surprise Hulk out," he said, smiling. "But I've got it under control. Meditation works. So does yoga. And my mind meadow."

Steve frowned. He had heard of the first two techniques, but not the third. "What's a mind meadow?"

Bruce sat back down and patted the floor next to him. Steve sat down next to him, crossing his legs neatly. "I can show you if you like?" Bruce offered.

Steve nodded, curious.

"OK. Close your eyes." Bruce's voice was quiet and close. "I want you to imagine a door. It can be any door you want, but I want you to know that this door is special: it's a door that can't be broken down by other people. It's completely impenetrable for anyone other than you. When you go through that door, you're completely safe. Do you see a door?"

Steve let his mind conjure up an image. It was hazy at first but, as he concentrated, it began to sharpen. "Yes," he said slowly. "It's set in a castle wall. It's made of wood and it's reinforced with iron."

He could sense Bruce nodding next to him. "That's great, Steve. Now when you're ready, I want you to push open the door, and you'll step into a meadow."

For about 10 seconds, Steve mentally psyched himself up to open the imaginary door. When he felt the moment was right, he watched in his mind's eye as he pushed open the door to the meadow.

He gently fell about 2 metres to the meadow floor, breathing deeply as his weightless self got to his feet.

"I'm here."

"Good, Steve, that's really good." Bruce's voice seemed a long way away. "Now, I want you to just have a walk around the meadow. Take a look at the scenery. Look out for any water or wildlife. Familiarise yourself with the place."

Steve walked around his mind meadow. There was a stream that ran along the centre of the meadow, splitting it in two. On one side the meadow was healthy and green; on the other side it looked colder and browner.

A gentle breeze blew over him, making him shiver momentarily.

"I want you to know that you're completely in control of your meadow," he heard Bruce say. "You can control what the weather's like, you can make plants grow if you want to. You can fly and change the landscape or even change your form, if you want to. That's the point of the mind meadow. It's a private place where you can go to if you're ever feeling overwhelmed. In the meadow, you're completely in control, and you're completely safe."

As Bruce said this, Steve felt a wave of calmness roll over him. He felt peaceful.

After a few minutes of just enjoying the calmness, Steve finally said, "I'd like to come out of the mind meadow now."

Bruce chuckled gently next to him. "Sure. Come out in your own time. Whenever you're ready."

A few minutes later, Steve finally felt ready to leave and pulled himself out of the imaginary meadow.

He opened his eyes and had to blink a couple of times. The light in the reading room seemed abnormally bright.

Bruce seemed prepared for this, handing Steve a pair of sunglasses. "Pretty good, huh?" he said, smiling.

Steve leaned back, resting on his elbows. "Intense," he nodded. "But peaceful. I can see how it helps you."

Bruce smiled shyly. "It really does."

"I might use it myself actually," Steve commented. "When I'm feeling angry."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "I find it hard to believe that Captain America frequently wants to fly off into violent rages," he joked.

Steve smiled tightly. "You'd be surprised," he said. At seeing Bruce's confused look, he continued, "I've lost so much in the last seven decades. Time. And friends."

He closed his eyes as Bucky's face shimmed to the forefront of his memory.

"Sometimes I feel so much rage," Steve continued, his voice low. "At how unfair life is."

He saw Bruce shifting beside him, the other man fiddling with his shirt sleeves as he tried to think of something to say. "Well, hopefully the mind meadow will help," Bruce said eventually.

Steve smiled. "Yes. Thank you for teaching me about that," he said, gratefully. "I really appreciate it."

Bruce smiled, lowering his eyes but looking pleased. "No problem."

"Coulson has been really great at helping me feel better, you know. He gave me a gramophone to help me feel more at home."

"That's nice," Bruce said. "He's a good guy."

"I want to do something nice for him to say thank you. Do you have any ideas?"

Bruce took his glasses off and cleaned them using the front of his shirt as he thought about it. "Hmm. Well do you know that he's a big fanboy of yours?"

He looked over at Steve and laughed at his confused expression. "A fanboy if just a guy who is really keen about a celebrity or a character, or in this case, you. I'm sure he has lots of questions about your life that he's dying to ask you. He's just too polite to do so."

"Huh. OK." This was new information, and not at all what Steve had been expecting.

As he thought about it though, he realised that the situation could be perfect.

If Coulson idolised Captain America, it might make him much more pliable than Steve had originally thought.

 

* * *

 

It was one week later that Steve found Clint sprawled on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn resting on his stomach as he watched a documentary about birds of prey, a look of rapt attention on his face.

The subtitles were on, which meant that Clint must have had his hearing aids switched off. This also meant that he didn't notice Steve was in the room until he appeared in his line of vision when he plopped himself next to Clint on the sofa.

Clint jerked violently, the popcorn spilling over himself as he desperately lurched for the remote control to switch off the documentary.

"Don't look!" he shouted, in vain, as Steve was already looking from the bird documentary to Clint with a bemused smile on his lips.

Clint finally managed to turn the television off and switch on his hearing aids. Popcorn was spilled all over the floor and one kernel had ended up in his sandy blonde hair.

Steve picked this piece out of his hair and popped in into his mouth, grinning as he ate it slowly.

"Don't tell the others!" Clint's eyes were comically wide as he gave an uncharacteristic pout.

Steve cocked an eyebrow. "Tell them what?" he asked innocently.

"That I like bird documentaries! And birds of prey in general. You know they'd take the mick..."

Steve pretended not to understand. "Why would they laugh at you for that?"

Clint flushed bright red. "Because I'm _Hawk_ eye. As you _know_ , you smug bastard."

Steve laughed and then suddenly had an idea. Without a word, he jogged back to his room. He found what he was looking for on his desk and tucked it under his arm, before jogging back to where he'd left Clint sat on the sofa.

"I won't tell the others," he said gently.

He flicked through his sketchpad until he came to the section he was looking for. A few weeks before, he had gone through a bird phase, drawing eagles, doves, robins, owls and vultures.

"Feel free to take a look at these," he said, smiling. "I drew them a couple of weeks back. They're not very good. If I'd known you like birds, I'd have put a bit more effort into them."

Clint stared at the sketches, open mouthed, taking in the carefully drawn feathers, beaks and talons. He traced his finger along a hawk, humming with admiration at how Steve had managed to capture its shape in flight, strong and streamlined and graceful.

"These are beautiful, Steve," he said in astonishment. "I didn't even know you could draw."

Steve shrugged. "It's just a hobby."

Clint scoffed. "Don't undersell yourself, these are freaking amazing."

He fell silent as he flicked through more of the bird drawings, his eyes wide and shining as he bent closer to inspect the images.

He turned the page to find a charcoal drawing of a hawk in front of the American flag, which was painted in muted red, white and blue. The focus was very much on the hawk; its strong beak and the steely stare of its beady little eye.

Clint whispered an almost silent _wow_.

Steve had spent longer on this picture. He remembered how fragile his state of mind had been when he'd drawn it. He'd woken from a nightmare – _falling, the train_ – and had feverishly looked for a way to anchor him in the present. He had needed to focus on the mission at hand, to remind himself that he was supposed to be Captain America, and had ended up drawing this patriotic little artwork.

"You can have it if you want," he said.

Clint looked at him in surprise. "Are you sure? This looks like you put a lot of effort into it."

Steve waved his hand. "It's just a sketch. If you want it, you can have it."

Clint's eyes lit up as he nodded quickly. "If you're sure."

Steve smiled and went to fetch some scissors to carefully cut the page from his sketchpad. Once he had finished, he handed the page carefully to Clint, who looked at it in delight.

"Thanks so much, this is awesome!" he said excitedly, holding out the drawing at arm's length and admiring it.

"You're welcome," Steve said, grinning. "So long as you don't tell anyone that Captain America likes to draw American flags and hawks in his spare time, I won't tell anyone that Hawkeye loves birds of prey."

Clint laughed and high fived him. "Deal. Although Coulson would absolutely love to know that."

Steve felt his heartbeat quicken. He had been wondering how he was going to steer the conversation towards Coulson; now, he might not have to.

"Oh yeah?" he questioned, casually.

"Yeah. You know he's a massive Captain America fan, right? He's got these vintage trading cards and everything. I'm surprised he's not asked you to sign them yet actually..."

"He definitely hasn't," Steve laughed politely, filing the information away in his memory.

 

* * *

  
Steve spun around as a pale blue shape flashed past him.

He struck out instantly but his fist met empty space and a split second later he felt himself being pushed backwards onto the training mat.

Steve gasped as the wind was knocked out of him as he hit the floor for the fifth time in a row.

Pietro slowed down to normal speed and held his hand out to help Steve up. "You're going to have to do better than that," he grinned, winking.

Steve huffed with frustration as he allowed himself to be pulled up. "It's not fair, even with my super reflexes your super speed is just too fast."

"Clint beat me one time," Pietro revealed, wiggling his eyebrows mysteriously.

Steve let out a short laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

Pietro shook his head. "Nuh-uh. JARVIS, tell Steve I'm telling the truth."

"Mr. Maximoff is indeed telling the truth. Mr. Barton did once manage to beat him in a sparring match," came JARVIS' clear voice.

Steve glared at Pietro even harder, which made the younger man double over laughing.

"One more round," Steve bit out. He was unaccustomed to losing at sparring and he was a sore loser, as Pietro delighted in telling him. Repeatedly.

Pietro look a deep breath to compose himself and instantly disappeared as he went into super speed.

This time, Steve spread his legs wider apart, lowering his centre of gravity to improve his balance.

Realising that there was no way for him to hit Pietro on purpose, he started turning slowly, punching the air around him as fast as he could in the hope that he would manage to catch Pietro by chance.

After about a minute of this, he found his fist coming into contact with something solid and for a moment Pietro seemingly materialised again, a look of surprise on his face.

Before Steve could land a second punch, however, he had once again disappeared from view.

It was the first time that Steve had managed to land a punch on the other man, however, so Steve continued his technique, encouraged by the first result.

He decided to switch it up a little and started aiming his punches at different heights, in case Pietro was going to try sneaking up on him from a lower angle.

Suddenly, his fist met something solid once more and this time Pietro let out a pained cry as he materialised. This time, he didn't disappear immediately and Steve quickly tackled him to the ground, pushing him to the floor with a shout of victory.

Pietro looked up at him in dismay and Steve couldn't resist flashing him a cheeky grin. "You're going to have to do better than that!" he quipped, echoing Pietro’s words from the previous round.

Pietro groaned but allowed Steve to pull him to his feet. "OK, time out." Rubbing his elbow, he sniffed at Steve and looked at him grumpily through his pale eyelashes. "You got me on my funny bone."

"So?" Steve said, confused as to why that would matter.

"If you squeeze or hit my elbow where my funny bone is, it stops my super speed until the pain goes away," Pietro muttered.

Steve frowned. "Why does that happen?"

Pietro shrugged. "I don't know. But don't go telling the others about my weak spot, OK? Wanda would never let me hear the end of it if everyone started beating me in training."

Steve laughed and promised not to reveal Pietro's secret, wondering if all people with extra abilities had such weak spots.

Later that night, as he went to bed, he thought about Pietro and their sparring session earlier in the day.

He drifted off to sleep, dreaming that Pietro and the other Avengers were sitting with him in the green, lush part of his mind meadow.

Wanda was making a daisy chain with her twin brother, leaning on him and threading it through her fingers, when suddenly the daisies started morphing into train track sleepers.

Steve watched, unable to move, as the meadow and the Avengers disappeared and a horribly familiar Austrian mountainside started to emerge instead.

Horror filled his chest. _God, no, please don't make me see this again._

He let out a yell, suddenly clinging onto the edge of the train as Bucky hung on for his life mere metres away from him.

Steve tried to move along the train to reach him, but his limbs felt like they were being held down with lead weights, his movements were clumsy and slow, as if he were wading through treacle.

"Bucky!" he screamed. "Hang on! Grab my hand!"

Tears streamed down his cheeks and his breath came out in sharp bursts, as he willed his maddeningly slow legs to move – _move!_ – faster along the side of the train.

He reached out his hand, his fingertips inches away from Bucky's.

A cry bubbled up in his chest. He knew what was going to happen next. He saw it happen in his nightmares almost every night; saw it when he closed his eyes in his darker moments alone.

The rail snapped.

Bucky seemed to fall in slow motion.

"Steve? Steve!"

A hand was slapping his face.

"Captain! Wake up! Please," Pietro's voice was muffled as Steve watched his best friend slowly falling away from him, his fingers outstretched and frozen, a few inches – _70 years_ – too far away.

"Steve?" Pietro's voice was soft when he finally opened his eyes.

Steve lay disoriented for a moment, the image of Bucky still fresh in his mind. A sob escaped his lips and he clamped his jaw shut with embarrassment.

Pietro gingerly climbed into bed with him and put his arms around him, rubbing his back gently. "It's OK now, you're safe," he soothed. "It was just a dream."

_No, it wasn't._

Steve let Pietro hold him as he shook silently, willing himself not to sob out loud in front of the other man. Occasionally a small hiccup would escape him, but gradually he became more composed as the dream started to fade.

He started to dry his face on his duvet when Pietro saw what he was doing and pulled out a packet of tissues instead, silently offering him one.

Steve murmured his thanks as he took one, drying his eyes and blowing his nose.

"A bad dream?" Pietro asked gently.

Steve nodded tightly, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

"It's OK. It's over now."

 _No, it's not,_ Steve wanted to say. _It happened for real._

"Thank you," he said out loud.

Pietro gave him a small smile and slipped out of the bed, perching on the edge of the armchair instead.

"It's OK. Wanda gets nightmares quite often too. I know how to help when people have bad dreams."

Steve chewed his bottom lip. "No, really, thank you. I owe you one."

Pietro waved his hand. "You can buy me a drink some time," he smiled. "Then we'll be even."

They sat in silence for a while as Steve regained full control over his breathing.

"Hey, this is a sweet-looking gramophone!" Pietro's voice jerked him out of his reverie.

Steve glanced up to see Pietro standing next to the gramophone, running his pale fingers over the carvings in the mahogany wood. "Coulson got it for me," he said. "To help me feel more at home."

"How thoughtful," Pietro said, bending down to the examine the horn.

"Yeah, I owe him one too," Steve smiled. "I don't suppose you know what type of drink he likes, do you?"

Pietro cocked his head to one side. "I do, actually. It's a weird English ale: Theakston's Old Peculier."

Steve blinked. "I've never heard of it."

"No one has," Pietro laughed. "For a long time I thought Coulson had just made up the name for a laugh, but it's real."

They lapsed into silence again until Steve felt exhaustion tugging at him. He stifled a yawn.

Pietro heard him and gave him a gentle smile. "Ready to go back to sleep?"

Steve nodded and watched as the other man stood to leave. Before he knew what he was doing, he slipped out of bed and pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you again," he whispered.

Pietro rubbed his back. "No worries, Cap. What are friends for?"

 

* * *

  
Steve kept away from Wanda.

It wasn't that he disliked her, or thought she wouldn't have useful information about Coulson, he simply could not risk her seeing into his mind.

He knew that Wanda never deliberately read people's thoughts without their explicit permission, but Wanda herself had admitted that it was a power that she didn't yet have full control over.

It was not a risk worth taking.

Wanda sensed something strange about Steve. She didn't mean to be intrusive or probe his mind, but she couldn't help picking up on the undercurrents of his moods.

She sensed that he had intense emotions and that he felt a lot more than he let on outwardly.

To her, it felt as though he had a hard outer shell surrounding something deeper, as if he were hiding something. It was not something she had sensed in anyone else ever before.

One time at breakfast, shortly after she first noticed the strange outer shell/hidden centre phenomenon, her hand brushed against Steve's as they both reached for the jam.

Instantly, she caught a glimpse of a snowy mountainside, could feel the cold biting into her bones. But what overwhelmed her was the intense feeling of rage that flooded through her. Flowing out of Steve was anger, grief and something very dark that she didn't quite understand.

She pulled her hand away from Steve as if she had been burnt, tears filling her eyes as the feelings thankfully rushed away, leaving her shaking and exhausted.

"Wanda?" Steve asked carefully, looking at her closely, almost suspiciously.

Wanda stuttered that she wasn't feeling well and practically ran from the room, not stopping until she was safely in her bedroom, the door locked securely behind her.

She crawled into bed and pulled the duvet over her head, cocooning herself away from the outside as tears trickled down her cheeks.

She didn't know what she had just tapped into with Steve, but it frightened her.

She decided to avoid Steve as much as possible from then on.

 

* * *

 

Steve would go around to Brock's apartment most evenings after dinner, to hang out and relax with the other man.

It had become a routine, although he wasn't quite sure he could pinpoint when that had happened; it was just something that had developed between them organically.

The two of them would talk about all kinds of things. HYDRA came up as a topic of conversation fairly often, but they also talked about non-work related things: fitness, Brock's family, childhood memories, holiday plans and their ambitions for the future.

On more than one occasion, they had stayed up talking for so long that Steve had ended up crashing on Brock's sofa overnight.

On this particular evening, Steve had gone to the shops to pick up some fruity ciders and had worked up a sweat walking up the stairs to Brock's apartment. It was a hot summer's evening and the air was thick and humid.

He knocked on the front door, wiping his brow whilst balancing the box of cider on his hip.

Brock opened the door and stepped aside to let him in, his eyes lingering briefly on Steve's physique in his damp t-shirt as he slipped inside.

"I got us some Kopparberg ciders," Steve said, opening the box and holding one out for his friend.

"Not exactly manly," Brock said, rolling his eyes but taking one graciously all the same.

They moved to his living room and flopped down on the sofa, clinking their bottles together before both drinking deeply.

"Is that a new shirt?" Steve asked, nodding to the pale blue and white pinstriped t-shirt Brock was wearing. He'd never seen Brock wearing pale colours before; he normally stuck to black.

"Oh, yeah," he said, sounding pleased that Steve had noticed.

"It suits you. Are you trying to pull someone?" Steve joked.

Brock choked on his drink and Steve laughed as he slapped him on the back. "Touchy subject?" he teased.

Brock glared at him as he took another swig of his drink. "Hardly. And no, I'm not trying to pull anyone," he said defensively.

"Doesn't sound that way," Steve said. "Most people don't choke when they're asked if they're trying to attract some dame."

" _Dame_ ," Brock muttered, shaking his head. "Sometimes I forget you're like a hundred years old."

Steve looked at him curiously. "So are there any women you're interested in?" he asked.

Brock avoided his gaze and gave a shrug that could have meant anything. "I'm not really interested in women," he said, trying – and failing – to sound casual.

Steve sat silently for a moment as he pondered this. "Men then?"

Brock turned to him, suddenly looking upset. "What does it matter to you?"

"Sorry," Steve said, surprised. He'd never seen Brock upset before. Angry, grumpy and tired, yes, but never upset.

He sat silently for a moment, wondering why someone as self-assured and confident as Brock would shy away from admitting being... whatever he was.

"I think I've gathered enough intelligence from the Avengers to get close to Coulson," he said, changing the subject.

"Oh yeah?" said Brock, sounding relieved that Steve had dropped the previous topic of conversation.

 _Interesting_.

"Yeah, I charmed the freaks," he grinned.

Brock laughed at that. "I thought you told me off last time I called them freaks," he said, shifting his position to throw his legs out and rest his feet on Steve's knees.

"Mmm, well, that was very naughty of you," he chided, tapping his cold glass against Brock's feet in mock disapproval.

A blush spread across Brock's cheeks. Steve watched with interest at the way his ears went red too.

"It's exhausting, you know, having to put up a front all the time," he continued, as if he hadn't noticed the blush at all. "I have to constantly pretend to be someone I'm not."

He absent-mindedly traced his fingers over Brock's ankles, causing the other man to close his eyes and hum gently.

"I really look forward to our evenings together. It's the only time I can actually be myself," he admitted. "You're probably my best friend."

Brock raised his eyebrows at that. "You know, we're not so sappy here in the 21st century," he said.

"It's true though," Steve retorted. "I don't open up like this to anyone else, in case you didn't know."

Brock was silent for a moment, avoiding Steve's eyes and clearly thinking hard about something. Eventually, a small smile formed on his lips. "I suppose you're my best friend too."

Steve smiled and took another swig from his cider.

"Just don't get all emotional and weepy about it like some girl," Brock continued jokingly. "I can't deal with that kind of crap."

Steve caught hold of Brock's ankles and pulled him down the sofa towards him.

"You know I'm anything but feminine," he said roughly, before pulling Brock in for a hard, messy kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, Brock's pupils were blown huge, his lips dark and swollen. "Steve?" he said, uncertainly.

Steve looked down at the other man, taking in his heaving chest and the bulge in his jeans.

_Perfect._

"I've got to go," he said reluctantly, getting up from the sofa. "I'll see you soon."

He heard Brock's groan of frustration as he left the apartment and smiled.

 

* * *

 

He invited Coulson around for dinner the following evening.

The other Avengers had eaten early to allow Steve to have the kitchen and dining area to himself for Coulson's visit.

When he arrived, Steve was already cooking the risotto, the aroma of fish stock, onions and rice wafting through the kitchen.

"Hey Phil," he said warmly, crossing over the kitchen to pull the smaller man into a hug. "How're you doing?"

Coulson's eyes crinkled into a smile. "Great, thanks. How are you?" He sniffed the air and his smile brightened. "This smells delicious, Steve."

Steve thanked him graciously and passed him a bottle of Theakston's Old Peculier.

Coulson's eyes widened when he saw it. "My favourite beer. How did you get it?"

"Tony might have shown me how to order things on the internet. I had to get it imported from a brewery in England; couldn't find it in any of the stores around here!"

Coulson opened the bottle and took a deep swig, sighing happily. "You didn’t have to go to all that effort," he said.

Steve smiled and shrugged as he tested how well-cooked the rice was.

"You got me a gramophone; getting you some beers doesn't really compare," he replied.

The rice was almost done so he finally added some vegetables and the tuna, stirring so that the rice didn't get stuck to the bottom of the pan.

"Shall I set the table?" Coulson offered.

Steve nodded and said that would be helpful, watching Phil as he did so.

When the risotto was done, he served it onto two plates and carried them over to the table. "Tuna risotto," he grinned, as he put down the plates with a flourish.

The look of joy on Coulson's face was almost comical and Steve had to suppress a chuckle.

"So, what's the occasion?" Coulson asked. "My favourite meal and my favourite beer – I doubt that's a coincidence."

Steve sighed and ducked his head coyly. "I want to say thank you for helping me to settle down in the 21st century. You've been so kind to me, you've even given me a home, and you've gone out of your way to help me and make me feel comfortable. Like buying me an old gramophone, that's way above and beyond what you had to do."

Coulson blushed. "Anything to help, Cap. It's fine. You know that."

"I do know that," Steve said, nodding earnestly. "And I wanted to show you how much I appreciate it."

Coulson looked momentarily lost for words, before picking up his bottle and holding in the air. "A toast to our friendship."

Steve tapped his bottle against Coulson's with a smile. "Cheers."

They ate their meal at a leisurely pace, chatting and cracking jokes. Steve watched carefully as Coulson relaxed, growing more animated as he settled into the conversation. It was probably the happiest and most relaxed he'd ever seen Coulson; normally he just saw him in work-mode, efficient and cool.

As they finished their food, Steve took the plates over to the dishwasher and pulled out some more Theakston's Old Peculier from the fridge.

"So, Clint told me you have these vintage Captain America trading cards," he said casually.

Coulson blushed bright red, looking mightily embarrassed. "Erm. Oh God. Yeah. I do. But they're not a big deal or anything..." he trailed off, sweat beading on his forehead.

Steve smiled gently. "It's OK. I had fans back in the 1940s, it makes sense that some people would still be interested today. Would you like me to sign them?"

Coulson seemed to vibrate with excitement. "If you want to, that'd be, erm, _amazing,_ " he said enthusiastically, reaching for his bag.

Steve laughed at the thrilled expression on Coulson's face as he pulled out his trading cards, laying them out carefully on the table in front of them.

Steve pulled out a pen from his pocket and took the card that Coulson pointed to.

 _To Phil_ , he wrote, _Hello! I think you’re rather cool. From your friend, Steve Rogers / Captain America._

Coulson let out a squeak of excitement when he saw what Steve had written, a massive grin breaking out on his face.

"Thank you, Captain!" he gushed. "I mean Steve."

Steve clapped him on the shoulder with a smile, "You're welcome, Phil. I guess you must have some questions for me? I know you're too polite to ask normally, but if you do have any questions, you're more than welcome to ask them now."

Coulson looked as though all his Christmases had come early. "There are some things I've been dying to know," he admitted. "If it's not too intrusive?"

Steve shook his head. "If I feel uncomfortable, I'll let you know, but I doubt you'll ask anything inappropriate," he said, eyes twinkling.

Coulson smiled, gazing off into space for a moment as he pondered what to ask first. "I've always wondered what things were like for you before the serum," he said eventually. "We all know about Captain America the muscly hero, but what was Steve Rogers like, the little man?"

Steve considered his answer carefully. "I was pretty much the same, I guess, but the way people treated me was different. I'd get overlooked by people. The guys would sneer at me and the girls would either not notice me or just pity me. My mom and Bucky were pretty much the only people who treated me with respect before I became Captain America. Not that I ever let that get me down. I stood up for myself and my beliefs even before I had the serum – sometimes bigger guys would fight me, but I'd always have them on the ropes."

Coulson was paying rapt attention, leaning forward in his chair as he listened. "It must have felt like stepping into a whole different world when the serum worked," he said.

"Pretty much," Steve laughed. "I learnt how much people make judgements based on appearances."

Coulson nodded solemnly, thinking about this. "OK, next question. What's the strangest thing about being in the present day?"

"The fact that all my peers are gone," he said, instantly. "It feels like a completely different planet without some people."  
  
_Without Bucky_.

Coulson nodded sympathetically, patting Steve on the arm. "I know something else is up," he said, after a moment's pause. "The meal, the beer, letting me geek out about you. I appreciate all of it, I really do, but I know there's some other agenda here. No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

For a moment Steve considered lying and denying it, but he decided against it. Coulson was a smart man; he'd see straight through it.

"Actually, sir, there is something I really need to know," he admitted, putting on his most serious expression.

"Go on."

"I need to know the identity of the head of SHIELD."

Coulson sighed. "We've already been through this, Steve. Agents are not allowed to know-"

"Please, sir," Steve interrupted. "Let me explain. You know I wouldn't ask unless it were of the utmost importance. I think I may have uncovered a plot against SHIELD."

"Continue," Coulson said sharply, instantly alert.

"I need to speak to the head of SHIELD. If there's a mole, as you think there is, then only the person at the very top can be trusted, surely? For all I know, _you_ could be the mole."

"I'm not the mole," Coulson frowned.

"Sure, and I believe you," Steve said. "But I don't know that for a fact, do I? _Someone's_ the mole, and as far as we know, it could be anyone. That's why I need to speak to the person at the top. For security."

Coulson pondered this for a moment. "What is the nature of this plot against SHIELD?"

"I don't know exactly, sir, but it's something to do with the Helicarriers."

Coulson looked up sharply. "Where did you hear this plot being discussed?"

Steve floundered for a moment, wondering what he could say that wouldn't drop Brock in it. "At SHIELD HQ," he said, after the tiniest of pauses.

"I'm reporting this to the Director immediately," Coulson said, looking stony faced. He pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and stood up as if to leave.

"Please, sir, let me come with you!" Steve begged, feeling that his chance was slipping away from him.

He needed to know to identity of the head of SHIELD. It was a vital part of his plan.

"I'm sorry, Steve, but you don't have clearance for this," Coulson's tone was final.

"How can I not have clearance? I'm the one who just _told_ you-"

Steve was cut off by Coulson holding up his hand and giving him a pointed glare.

Coulson walked towards the lift as Steve gazed after him miserably, dialling a number on his phone as the lift doors opened. "JARVIS, bottom floor please."

The lift doors closed and Steve ran over to them desperately, pressing his ear against the smooth metal.

He closed his eyes as he strained his ears. The serum had not only made him stronger and more agile, but had also heightened his senses. He could hear the machinery in the lift whirring as it began to descend, could feel the tiny vibrations against his palms.

He slowed his breathing right down, concentrating. He could hear the phone ringing through Coulson's phone's speaker. He almost fell over when he heard the line click as someone – _the head of SHIELD_ – answered the call.

"Director Fury, I need to schedule an emergency meeting with you immediately..." Coulson's voice was muffled and was quickly descending too far away even for Steve to hear.

But it didn't matter.

Steve had done it: he had a name.

 

* * *

  
He went straight from there to Brock's apartment, buzzing with triumph.

He felt drunk on victory, practically running up the stairs.

He knocked on the door and Brock opened it almost straight away, as if he had been waiting for him.

It was the first time they'd seen one another since the kiss and Brock was glaring at him unhappily.

Steve smirked as he shut the door behind him, stepping closer towards Brock until he'd backed the other man up against the wall. He traced his fingertip over Brock's jawline, feeling the pulse quicken beneath his fingers.

"Why the long face, Brock?" he murmured.

Brock turned his head away from Steve's hand but made no attempt to move. "We need to talk about whatever the hell's going on between us," he snapped.

Steve planted a hand on the wall on either side of Brock's shoulders, effectively trapping him in. "Do you like me?" he asked.

"Of course. We're each other's best friend, right?"

"Yes, sure. But do you _like_ me?" Steve asked again, placing the emphasis on the word 'like' and rolling his hips against Brock's as he did so.

The other man couldn't stop a soft moan escaping from his lips. "Yes," he groaned.

"I thought so," Steve smirked. "I've suspected it for weeks. I've seen the way you blush when I brush against you."

"I don't blush," Brock snapped. "I'm not some freaking girl."

Steve lowered his head and nipped his away down Brock's neck, slipping his hands under the other man's shirt and stroking the hard muscles there. "Mmm, you're certainly not," he whispered.

Brock let his head fall back against the wall as he let out a moan. "No one can know about us," he said quietly.

Steve nodded, continuing kissing and gently biting along Brock's neck.

"And I don't want any romantic crap," he continued.

"Sure," Steve reassured him. "I'll make sure no one knows you're my dirty little slut."

He was taking a gamble, not knowing for sure if Brock was into that kind of dirty talk, but judging by the way Brock was suddenly trying to wrestle him out of his shirt, he figured he'd guessed correctly that this was exactly the kind of dirty talk he liked the most.

Within seconds, Brock had stripped him of his shirt and was reaching for his belt buckle.

"Woah, so eager," Steve commented with a smirk, gripping Brock by the hand and pulling him towards the bedroom.

They crossed the threshold and stumbled towards the bed. As soon as they were close enough, Steve pushed Brock firmly and he fell backwards onto the bed. Steve climbed on top of him and gazed down at the man underneath him, stroking up and down his chest gently.

"What do you want?" Steve murmured, tweaking Brock's nipple.

"Dominate me." The answer was so quiet Steve barely heard it.

Steve sucked in a breath and held it, trying to think clearly despite the rush of blood to his groin. "Are you sure?"

Brock nodded impatiently.

"And where can I find the essentials?"

"Condoms and lube are in the dresser," he spat out. "Now hurry the fuck up."

Steve grabbed Brock's wrists with one hand and pinned them above his head, rolling him over at the same time. His other hand came down hard on the other man's buttocks. "You're not the one calling the shots right now," he said roughly, a spurt of satisfaction going through him at the way Brock moaned and arched his back at the words.

"Steve, please," Brock whined. His eyes were closed, his voice strained with need.

Steve looked down at him; his flushed cheeks and his hands, pinned down, so placid and still.

"I'm going to make you mine, tonight," Steve promised, watching Brock shiver with pleasure and anticipation.

And he did…

Afterwards, both of them satisfied and covered in sweat, Steve gently ran his fingers down Brock's back, causing him to squirm. "Ticklish?" he said, amused.

"Don't even think about it," Brock warned, kicking his shin half-heartedly.

Steve stopped, simply pulling Brock closer instead, nuzzling the back of his neck as the other man drifted off to sleep.

He considered telling him about learning Director Fury's name but decided against it. Fury was his mission after all, not Brock's.

He knew he should tell him that he'd had to tell Coulson about a vague plot surrounding the Helicarriers, but looking at Brock now, fast asleep and peaceful, he decided it could wait until the morning.

The frown line that usually creased Brock's forehead had smoothed out, making him look younger and more vulnerable.

Steve shifted gently, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Brock more closely.

The slight movement caused the other man to stir, his eyes opening sleepily.

"Shh," Steve soothed, stroking his hair gently.

Brock moaned softly and moved closer, nestling his head against Steve's chest.

"Do you trust me?" Steve asked quietly, after a short pause.

"Yeah, of course," Brock replied, his voice muffled against his chest. "Why?"

A feeling of satisfaction settled over Steve. "Nevermind," he said softly. "Go back to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so as you can probably tell my the length of this chapter, I *really* enjoyed writing Steve's relationships with the other characters. There's so much interesting chemistry there between all of them; I wish I could write about it indefinitely, but that would cause my hands to fall off and you to probably die of old age, so maybe I shouldn't. Did you enjoy it? Don't be shy, let me know your thoughts in the comments :)
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "Washington DC" and will really test Steve's cover and his loyalties.


	4. Washington DC

As it turned out, Steve wasn't able to tell Brock that he'd had to inform Coulson of the Helicarrier plot in the morning as he'd intended to.

This was because at 6:05am, he'd received an urgent call from Coulson himself, telling him to suit up and be ready to leave Avengers Tower in 30 minutes time.

Hastily pulling on his clothes, he'd had to leave Brock's apartment quickly.

"What's going on?" Brock asked, his voice husky as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"Sounds like I have a mission," Steve replied, zipping up his jeans and turning to leave.

"Steve..." Brock pouted.

Steve turned back with a smile, leaning down to give him a long, lingering kiss, stroking his cheek gently. "Don't get yourself into any mischief while I'm away," he joked.

Brock snorted slightly with laughter. "Like I'd do that," he said, a dark glimmer in his eyes.

Steve gave him a wink before running out of the apartment, not slowing down until he made it back to the tower. Luckily, Brock only lived a few blocks away.

He caught his breath in the lift as it rose to his floor, before dumping his civilian clothes in his room and changing into his uniform.

"Any news on the mission, JARVIS?" he asked, as he picked up his shield and planted it securely on his back.

"I'm afraid I have no such information, sir. Agent Coulson is waiting for you in the main communal area."

Steve nodded his thanks and made his way up to the communal area, jogging into the room. A quick glance told him that he was the last one there.

"Thank you all, for getting here at such short notice," Coulson said crisply. "We have a mission."

They all stood up a little straighter, any traces of tiredness gone at the tense tone in Coulson's voice.

"Bruce, I want you to stay here at Avengers Tower. This is a mission that will potentially require stealth, so the Hulk's a no-no on this one. I want you to stay in contact with us over comms. We'll give you a live feed of the location via CCTV cameras and satellites, so that you can give us tactical assistance if the situation goes south."

"Yes, sir," Bruce said solemnly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Everyone else, come with me. There's a Quinjet on the roof, ready to fly. I'll explain everything en route."

"Where are we going, sir?" Clint asked, as the seven of them strode quickly towards the lift.

They all squeezed in and Coulson pressed the 'roof' button as the lift doors slid shut.

His eyes were a stormy shade of blue.

"Washington DC."

 

* * *

 

"I hate stakeouts," Tony complained, for what was probably the tenth time.

"Shut up, Stark," Natasha said calmly, and for a while there was silence over comms.

"But it's so boring," Tony whined a few minutes later, breaking the silence once more.

Steve huffed with annoyance.  
  
The six of them were guarding the Helicarriers, lying in wait for any attackers. As there were three Helicarriers, they had split into three groups of two: Tony and Steve, Clint and Natasha, and Pietro and Wanda.

"Don't you hate stakeouts, Steve?" Tony was bored, and he seemed to be trying to keep himself occupied by being as annoying as possible.

Steve gritted his teeth, urging himself to keep calm and not snap at the other man. "Sometimes you've got to be patient, Tony; play the long game."

Tony gave an exaggerated sigh. "I hate the long game."

"There's a group of SHIELD agents coming your way," came Bruce's voice suddenly, in their ears. "They're about to come out of the elevator."

As if on cue, the lift doors opened with a gentle ding and about seven SHIELD agents came striding towards them along a long metal walkway.

"I wonder if they've come to tell us we can leave," said Tony, sounding hopeful.

Steve watched as a guard who was stationed on the walkway flipped up his visor. "What are you guys doing down here?" he called out to the approaching group.

The group of seven agents didn't slow down and didn't raise their visors. An uneasy feeling settled in Steve's stomach.

"I said, what are you doing down here?" the guard asked again, sounding more agitated this time.

Before the guard could react, the man at the front of the group pulled out a pistol and shot him twice in the chest.

"Hail HYDRA!" he shouted.

"Shit," said Tony.

"Language!" snapped Steve automatically, unable to believe what he was witnessing.

"What the hell is going on?" Clint demanded. The Helicarrier that he and Natasha were guarding was at the other end of the hangar, which meant that they were unable to see the scene unfolding in front of Steve and Tony.

"A group of SHIELD agents just came in and killed a guard," Tony said. " _And hailed HYDRA!_ "

A string of expletives and exclamations of disbelief came over comms from the other Avengers.

"What the f-" Tony was cut off by a bullet striking his Iron Man armour with a loud clang.

Steve flung his shield at the group of SHIELD agents – _fellow HYDRA operatives_ – knocking two of them unconscious whilst Tony dealt with the other five using weapons from his suit.

"Bruce, we need back up," Natasha ordered. "Put in a request for as many SHIELD agents as possible to help us defend the Helicarriers. We are coming under attack."

Almost as soon as she'd finished speaking, the lift doors blew open with a bang and a large group of SHIELD agents came flooding in, fanning out across the hangar.

"That was quick." Tony's voice was tight with stress.

"I don't think they're here to help us," Steve said, his suspicions confirmed as the agents started firing their weapons in his and Tony's direction.

He ducked behind the wheel of the Helicarrier, the bullets ricocheting harmlessly off the thick rubber. "Everybody, we're coming under attack! Assume that all SHIELD agents in the hangar are with HYDRA."

An agent came into his field of vision, gun at the ready. Steve swore as he shot the man before he could fire at him.

He launched himself out from behind the wheel as he heard a clatter of boots approaching his position, knocking out as many operatives as he could with sharp blows to the head.

He cursed viciously. _What the hell are HYDRA doing_ , he wondered. He didn't want to have to kill HYDRA operatives, but at the same time, he needed to fight them so that Coulson wouldn't become suspicious.

He took out his frustrations on two unfortunate operatives who had chosen to cross the metal walkway at that moment. Not bothering to reach for his shield, Steve grabbed both of them by their helmets and smashed their heads together with as much force as he could muster. They fell to the ground immediately, not moving.

"Good work, Cap," came Tony's voice over comms, as he swooped past in his Iron Man suit, firing off shots at another wave of operatives who had just entered the fray.

"How is everyone?" Steve demanded.

He counted as all five of them replied, confirming they were fine, although it sounded like they were all now engaged in battle.

"Bruce, any idea what they're trying to do?" he asked.

"Erm, from what I can see on the cameras, they all seem to be trying to gain access to the Helicarriers. So don't let them on board. Whatever they're planning to do with them, it can't be good." Bruce's voice sounded shaky and Steve could picture him trying to do his breathing exercises whilst simultaneously giving them tactical support.

"Hang in there, Bruce, we need you," Steve urged. "Mr. Big And Green can come out later."

"Sure thing, Cap," said Bruce, but Steve didn't hear him, having just spotted a familiar, black-clad figure enter the hangar, skirting around the edge, presumably to attack from behind.

"Tony, make sure no one gets access to the Helicarrier," he ordered, sprinting after the man, who was now running along the edge of the hangar, so far unnoticed by the others.

He caught up with him quickly and grabbed him by the shoulder, swinging him around roughly as he flicked off his comms device so that no one could hear them.

"Brock, what the hell is going on here?" he snapped. "Talk fast, no bullshit."

"This is a HYDRA uprising," Brock replied, grinning widely, seemingly unperturbed by Steve's sudden appearance and the vice-like grip on his shoulder. "It's time to come out of hiding, Cap. It's time for us to come out of the shadows and into the light. Build a whole new world out of the ashes of the old one."

Steve shook him hard by the shoulders. "You know I can't do that, Brock! You know I have to stay hidden in order to complete my mission! I need to be seen to _fight_ you and the others, didn't you think of that?!"

"If you hadn't gone and opened your big mouth to Coulson, that wouldn't be a problem," Brock snarled back. "Don't blame me for this. You weren't supposed to be here!"

Steve's eyes flashed darkly as he resisted the urge to punch the man in front of him. "Tell me what the hell is going on," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Brock's eyes were shining in a way that Steve had never seen before. "Like I told you ages ago, the Helicarriers are going to do something freaking beautiful. They're brimming with weapons and once they reach a certain height, they're going to wipe out all of HYDRA's enemies, millions at a time."

" _Millions?_ " Steve asked incredulously.

"That's not even the best part about it, pal. The Helicarriers have been configured to kill potential enemies before they even become threats! An on-board algorithm works out who has particular characteristics that make them likely to turn against HYDRA in the future, and takes them out before they get that far. It's beautiful."

"It's murder!" said Steve, horrified. "You can't do this!"

Brock raised his eyebrows, his lips quirking into a smile. "Hypocrite alert," he sneered. " I'm pretty sure you've murdered a few people yourself, Steve."

Steve flushed. "That's different. I've only ever killed people who've deserved it: people who'd done wrong; people who'd served with SHIELD. Killing people just because they _may_ become threats in the future, that's completely different and you know it."

"Times have changed, Steve," Brock said coldly. "This is how things are in the 21st century."

Steve squeezed his fists together, rage pounding through him with every heartbeat. He saw a SHIELD agent approaching and shot him in the forehead, not bothering to look as his body fell to the ground. Brock looked from the dead body to Steve uneasily.

"Run, Brock," he said, gritting his teeth. "Get out of here. Your men are losing to the Avengers. Get out of here while you still can. Call off this operation."

"No," Brock said simply, before pressing his finger to his ear to activate his comms device. "Send in the Asset."

He turned away from Steve and jogged away.

Steve stared after him in disbelief before flicking his own comms device back on.

He was immediately hit with a wall of noise, causing him to break into a run as he returned to the Helicarrier he was supposed to be guarding with Tony.

"What's going on?" he said, in alarm.

"Where the hell are you, Steve?" screamed Wanda, in his ear.

"Some kind of special HYDRA operative has just joined the fight," came Tony's voice, all of his usual snark gone.

"Pietro and Wanda have been requesting back up from you, where have you been?" Natasha demanded.

"My comms went out," he lied, his mouth dry. "I'm on my way."

"Help us!" Pietro shouted. "Everyone, please!"

"Our orders are to defend the Hel-" Steve started.

"Please!" screamed Pietro, sounding more frightened than Steve had ever heard him. "He's trying to kill Wanda!"

Steve sprinted as fast as he could in their direction and rounded a large rack of weapons, finally getting a clear view of who Wanda and Pietro were battling against.

He caught sight of the twins immediately, hiding behind a sheet of metal that they seemed to be using as a makeshift shield.

The man attacking them was clad entirely in thick black leather, a black mask covering the lower half of his face and thick black goggles covering the area around his eyes.

What drew Steve's attention, however, was the man's arm. It was made entirely of metal, with a dark red star on the shoulder. The man was moving the prosthetic arm as easily as if it were his own, throwing and blocking punches with brutal accuracy.

Judging by the dented metal that the twins were using as a shield, the arm had been enhanced to be extremely strong.

He could see Pietro appearing and disappearing, obviously trying to push the man away from Wanda at super speed, but he was seemingly swatting Pietro away with little effort.

_This must be the Asset._

Steve threw his shield at the Asset's head with all his strength.

The Asset, who had been about to strike Pietro, spun around instantly, his shoulder-length brown hair whipping around at lightning speed, holding out his metal arm in front of him. He caught the shield easily, glaring at Steve through his goggles.

Without hesitation, he flung the shield back at Steve. Steve managed to catch it, although the force of the throw was enough to push him back several metres.

Steve felt the wind get knocked out of him and staggered upright, before launching himself at the man. The Asset drew back his fist to punch him and Steve hurled himself aside to avoid the hit, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist and using his momentum to tackle him to the ground.

They both hit the floor with a hard thud and Steve managed to pin the Asset underneath him, grappling with him to try to pin down his hands.

The Asset kicked out viciously and Steve let out a yell as his shin exploded with pain. His grip on the Asset's hands loosened instinctively for a split second and, before Steve could rectify his mistake, the Asset had flipped them over, his cold metal hand closing around his throat and squeezing.

"Help," he rasped, trying desperately to pry open the metal fingers clenched hard around his neck.

Stars erupted in front of his eyes, his vision starting to grey out.

To his left, he could see Wanda and Pietro fighting a group of HYDRA operatives about 20 metres away from him. They had their backs to him, oblivious to the desperate situation he was in.

 _Help me!_ he thought, as loudly as he could, begging Wanda to hear his thoughts, but she was too preoccupied hurling what looked like red fire at the onslaught of operatives to notice.

His body felt like lead and his head was swimming, oxygen deprivation taking its toll.

_Please God, don't let me die, I still need to avenge Bucky!_

An arrow embedded itself in the Asset's flesh arm and he released Steve's throat with a howl of pain.

The Asset ripped the arrow out of his arm and leapt off Steve to chase after Clint.

Steve gulped down huge lungfuls of air, his throat burning and his eyes streaming as his body screamed for oxygen.

He got to his feet unsteadily, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, when a horrible crunching sound and a sharp squawk of pain came over comms.

"What's going on? Everyone, give me your status," Steve ordered, trying to quell the panic in his chest.

Natasha, Tony, Wanda and Pietro all replied.

"Clint? Come in, Clint, can you hear me?"

"That metal-armed guy was chasing him," Wanda said, her voice strained as she conjured up and hurled another ball of red fire at some approaching HYDRA operatives.

Tony swooped past in his Iron Man armour in the direction Clint had been running. There was a moment's silence before his shocked voice came over the comms, "Barton is down, I repeat, Barton is down. Everyone, get your asses over here."

"Our orders are to-"

"Screw the orders, Cap! Barton needs our help!" Tony's voice was bursting with anger, bordering on hysteria.

A shuddering, gargling breath from Clint came over the comms, kicking the Avengers into action. They rushed to his position, desperately firing shots at any HYDRA operatives who got in their way.

Clint was sprawled on the ground, not moving. His face was covered in blood and his right arm was twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle.

He didn't appear to be breathing.

Natasha dropped to her knees by his side instantly, pressing her fingers against his neck to feel for a pulse.

Wanda knelt on Clint's other side, placing her hand on his forehead and closing her eyes, her fingers flaring with red sparks as she tried to pick up on his brain activity.

For a long, agonising moment she was silent, her face drawn and pale.

She opened her eyes, sighing deeply. "He's alive."

Steve let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding and wiped sweat from his brow. "Natasha and Pietro, check his injuries and try to stabilise his condition," he ordered. "Everyone else, we need to guard the Heli-"

Steve didn't get to finish his sentence, because at that moment a tremendous roar drowned out the rest of his words.

The Avengers watched in horror as the three Helicarriers fired up their engines and began to lift from the ground.

In their battle with the Asset and in tending to Clint, they hadn't noticed a small number of HYDRA operatives sneaking into the control room, opening the hangar roof and launching the Helicarriers.

Their mission seemingly complete, Steve watched helplessly as the HYDRA operatives scattered, slipping away from the hangar like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

"What do we do now?" Wanda asked, looking nervous.

"We can't let the Helicarriers get too high," Steve said, his face pale. "Once they reach a certain altitude, they'll kill people; potentially millions of people."

"Jesus," Tony whispered.

"Any ideas on how to get them back on the ground?" Steve asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

"The Helicarriers will have manual controls on board them, for sure," Tony said, snapping to attention. "But it's likely that HYDRA will have programmed them not to change course." He took a deep breath. "Which means that the only way to stop them is to give them some new targets: one another. If they fire all their weapons at each other, that should blast them out of the sky."

Steve thought hard for a moment. "It's our only choice," he said, after a pause. "Bruce, get the word out to the police to evacuate the area. Natasha, get Clint to safety. Pietro, use your super speed to help as many civilians as possible out of the danger zone. Tony, Wanda and I will reconfigure the Helicarriers."

The others all nodded, their faces stony.

He turned to Tony. "Mind giving me a lift?"

"Sure thing, Cap," he replied instantly.

"Wanda, are you still strong enough to fly, or do you need a lift from Tony as well?"

"I can fly," Wanda replied softly, not looking him in the eyes for some reason.

"OK," he said. "Then good luck, everyone."

He wrapped his arms and legs around Tony and held on securely as Tony blasted off into the sky, racing after the rising Helicarriers.

Below him, he could see Wanda taking off as well, red sparks flying from her hands as she propelled herself upwards, her face pale but determined.

Within minutes, they reached the altitude of the Helicarriers and Tony circled around them, blasting holes in each of the Helicarriers' bay doors so that they could enter.

Steve watched as Wanda swooped into the first one.

Tony flew inside the second one and let go of Steve's waist. Steve gave Tony a quick nod of thanks before the other man flew away to enter the third Helicarrier.

"OK, guys," said Tony over comms. "JARVIS has just extracted the Helicarrier blueprints from SHIELD's servers. It looks as if the control panel is located in the central column. Head towards the middle of the Helicarrier and you can't miss it. When you get there, there should be a panel where you can manually input targets. Re-set that, and then get the hell out of there."

Steve jogged towards the middle of the Helicarrier, quickly finding the control panel that Tony had described.

He pressed his finger to the screen and it lit up immediately.

"OK, I'm at the control panel," he said. "What do I do now?"

Tony reeled off a set of coordinates and Steve inputted them, his fingers flying over the touchscreen.

"Now press the enter key and get out as fast as you can," Tony said.

Steve hesitated, his finger hovering over the button.

He was directly sabotaging a HYDRA plot; one that was likely the result of months, if not years' worth, of planning. He was defying an organisation he was meant to be loyal to.

The seconds trickled by, sweat beading on his forehead.

 _This has to be done,_ he thought.

He pressed the button.

Wanda and Tony had clearly already pressed their own buttons because as he felt the weapons on his own Helicarrier starting to power up, a series of blasts rocked the floor underneath him.

He ducked his head low and sprinted towards the exit, trying to keep his balance as the Helicarrier was blasted with numerous explosions.

One explosion was especially close and knocked him sideways, his ears ringing as debris flew dangerously close to him.

The exit was 10 metres away. He tilted his head down and pushed himself onwards, getting ready to jump.

One metre away...

A missile struck the underbelly of the Helicarrier and the floor fell out from under him, his stomach lurching as he dropped like a stone.

He twisted his body in mid-air in an attempt to face where he was going, when a piece of metal thudded against his head and knocked him out.

"Steve?" Tony shouted. "Where are you?"

He exchanged a worried glance with Wanda, who was stood next to him on the banks of the Potomac river.

"I don't see a parachute," she said, scanning the sky above them. Suddenly, she spotted him plummeting down, his body limp, flipping over and over as he fell. "I see him!"

She blasted energy out of her hands, mentally calculating his trajectory and flying as fast as she could to the intercept point.

She skimmed over the top of the river, weaving occasionally as debris from the Helicarriers crashed down.

Steve entered the water with a loud splash, his momentum and the weight of his uniform dragging him down below the surface instantly.

Wanda took a deep breath and dived into the water after him, manipulating her magic to form a protective shroud of warmth around her. She kicked strongly and reached out a hand for Steve, who was sinking slowly a few feet away from her.

She braced herself for the rage that she'd felt when she'd previously touched his skin, but this time the anger wasn't there, all emotions either switched off or muted in his unconscious state.

What hit her instead was a vision; one that she sensed plagued Steve often: a snowy mountainside, a sense of panic, and a man, falling from a train, a deep undercurrent of grief flowing through it all. 

 

* * *

 

Steve woke up in the medical bay at Avengers Tower, his head throbbing slightly and his muscles aching.

For a moment, he panicked, sitting upright in a hurry, thinking wildly that he may have missed another 70 years.

To his relief, Clint was sitting in the bed next to his, and Agent Coulson and the Avengers were standing around them in a tight circle.

As he sat up, the team gave a sigh of relief and Coulson clapped him on the arm gently. "Welcome back, Cap. You had us worried there for a moment."

He leaned back against the pillows. "What happened?" he asked.

"We think you must have got knocked out by a piece of debris from the Helicarrier," Coulson replied. "Luckily, Wanda was able to pull you from the river almost immediately. The doctors did some scans while you were unconscious; they think you should be completely fine once your headache wears off."

"I was less lucky," Clint said, giving him a rueful smile. "A broken arm and two cracked ribs; nothing life-threatening but enough to mean I won't be fighting for a while."

They lapsed into silence for a moment.

"HYDRA," Steve said quietly. "What do you know about them?"

He tensed his legs, ready to spring into action and fight his way out of the tower if they revealed they knew about his link to the organisation.

Coulson noticed his change in posture and rubbed his arm gently. "It seems they've been growing inside of SHIELD all along, biding their time and waiting for an opportunity to strike," he said.

"I can't believe those bastards still exist," Tony burst out angrily.

"All this time," Natasha muttered. "I can't believe I never saw it."

Wanda put an arm around her. "None of us saw this coming, Nat," she said.

"Steve," Clint said hesitantly. "I saw Brock fighting with HYDRA. He was one of the few who managed to actually get on board the Helicarriers. He's one of the people who launched them into the air."

Steve clenched his fists, gritting his teeth and trying to keep his mind as blank as possible, acutely aware of Wanda standing just a few feet away from him. He stared straight ahead, glaring at a point in space just behind Coulson's left ear.

"I'm sorry," Clint said, bowing his head. "I know you two were close."

Steve let out a shuddering breath, ducking his head and burying his face in his hands.

_Don't think, just breathe._

"JARVIS, run facial recognition analysis and monitor all satellite feeds for Agent Brock Rumlow. As soon as that son-of-a-bitch steps foot outside of whatever hole he's hiding in, we want to know about it," said Tony.

"Yes, sir," said JARVIS.

"He fooled us all, Steve," Pietro said earnestly. "I knew Brock too and he just seemed like an ordinary guy."

Steve nodded stiffly, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t sound suspicious.

Clint seemed to pick up on his discomfort. "Who the hell was the guy with the metal arm?" he asked, changing the suspect.

"HYDRA call him the Asset," said Steve.

"I know who he is," said Natasha quietly.

A stunned silence fell over the group as all eyes turned to Natasha.

She ran her fingers through her hair, avoiding eye contact with everyone. It was the closest Steve had ever seen her to looking uncomfortable.

"Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists," she said. "The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier."

 _The Winter Soldier._ For some reason, the name sent chills down Steve's spine.

"What do you mean, most people don't believe he exists?" asked Pietro.

Natasha twisted her fingers restlessly. "He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years," she said, after a long pause.

The others all exchanged looks of disbelief.

"But that's impossible," Steve said.

"I thought so too," Natasha said, nodding. "But five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me."

She lifted her jumper to reveal the two scars she had shown Steve before, that night in the kitchen when they had both had trouble sleeping. This time, she pointed to the thicker, more jagged scar.

"Bye bye bikinis," she said, with a wry smile.

The others stared at the scar. Wanda reached out to touch it gently.

"But he can't have been active over the last 50 years," Bruce said, clearly struggling to understand the biological impossibleness of it all. "The guy in the hangar was not some 70-year-old man."

"You turn into a huge green rage monster and I can read minds," Wanda sighed, conjuring up red mist and twirling it between her fingers. "Sometimes impossible things happen."

Clint gave a disgruntled sound from the bed. "He broke my arm and cracked my ribs; I'm pretty sure he exists."

"None of that matters now," Coulson interrupted. "What we need to focus on now is what to do next, and that's putting a stop to HYDRA once and for all."

Silence fell over the group once more as they all struggled to absorb everything that had happened.

Steve thought about Brock and the battle he'd been forced to fight against HYDRA earlier in the day. HYDRA was a lot stronger now than he had ever suspected, he realised. And they had kept so much from him: information about the Helicarrier plot, information about the Asset. He still didn't even know who their leader was, for God's sake.

Steve clenched his fists, a ball of fury slowly building inside of him.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, after he'd been discharged from the medical bay, Steve lay sprawled on his bed.

He was pondering the speed and strength of the Asset. It easily matched his own, which meant that he must be another super-soldier of some kind.

He wondered if HYDRA had managed to recreate the serum that Dr. Erskine had used on him all those years ago, or if some other mechanism was at play.

And then there were the reported sightings of the man stretching back over 50 years. None of it made any sense.

He sighed and sat up, shaking his head. He didn't understand any of it.

He realised he was still wearing his Captain America battle uniform and decided it was time to change back into his civilian clothes.

Standing up and pulling down his trousers, his fingers brushed against something in his pocket. Frowning, he pulled out a small scrunched up piece of paper.

He hadn't put it there.

He opened it and felt his heart start thumping in his chest.

_We'll be at Konnor's Fish Factory, New York docks. Come when you can. Hail HYDRA. BR._

Brock's messy handwriting was instantly recognisable, written in thick black marker pen. He must have slipped it into Steve's pocket while they had been talking in the hangar. With the chaos of the battle raging around them, Steve hadn't noticed.

He read the note again.

 _We'll_ be at Konnor's Fish Factory... 'We', plural. Brock and the whole of his particular HYDRA cell must be hiding out there.

Steve thought quickly, working out when he would next be able to slip unnoticed from the tower. Not tonight, that was for sure; everyone, including JARVIS, would be on high alert for any unusual activity.

Remembering the AI, he quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes and changed into jeans and a t-shirt, crumpling up the note and casually throwing it in the bin.

"Dinner is being served, Captain," JARVIS said suddenly.

Steve jumped slightly with surprise before plastering a smile on his face, trying to keep an outward appearance of composure.

"Thanks, JARVIS," he said warmly.

He left his room and made his way to the kitchen where the rest of the team was already sitting down and starting to load food onto their plates.

"I ordered Chinese," Tony said, through a mouthful of noodles, spraying Natasha with food.

She shot him a look of disgust and turned her head away haughtily.

Steve smiled at the interaction and sat next to Pietro, who handed him a plate.

He started to pile sweet and sour chicken and rice onto his plate, suddenly realising he was ravenous.

The seven of them started eating, chomping and slurping noisily, all obviously as hungry as Steve.

"It's so difficult eating one-handed," Clint complained.

"I'd have thought you'd be used to doing things one-handed," Tony leered, winking.

Clint snorted at the innuendo, accidentally spilling more food onto Natasha.

" _Boys!_ " she sighed exasperatedly, causing Wanda to giggle.

"Sir," said JARVIS.

Something about the AI's tone of voice caused Steve to pause eating and look up with trepidation. JARVIS sounded cautious, which was something that Steve had not heard before.

Tony obviously picked up on his strange tone of voice too, as he lay down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth, a slight frown on his face.

"What's up, buddy?" he asked.

"Would you like to step out of the room?"

At this, everyone stopped eating, looking up with expressions ranging from confused to surprised to frightened.

Steve felt his heartbeat accelerating as a queasy feeling settled in his stomach.

 _Had he been rumbled?_ he thought wildly. _What if JARVIS' cameras had been powerful enough to read Brock's note?_

Tony was by now looking positively alarmed. "No, it's fine, JARVIS," he said. "Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of the other Avengers."

JARVIS stayed silent for a moment.

Steve mentally mapped out the fastest route out of the tower.

"The Iron Legion has discovered a skeleton in the basement of an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Feldkirch," JARVIS intoned. "It appears to be that of an adult. It appears to have suffered head injuries." The AI paused, before saying gently, "It is a possible match for Howard Stark. DNA analysis will be necessary to confirm the identity of the remains."

All eyes turned to Tony, who was sitting stock still in his chair, a shocked expression on his face.

Steve leaned forward and touched Tony's arm gently. "Tony?"

Tony jerked and turned to look at Steve before grasping his arm tightly. "Thank you," he said thickly, "For potentially finding my uncle."

"It's fine," Steve stammered, his palms slick with sweat.

"If this is Howard," Tony choked out, "Then this will be the most incredible thing to have happened. My Pa may not have long left."

He staggered to his feet, pressing what looked like steel bracelets onto his wrists.

Immediately, a panel in the wall opened and one of Tony's Iron Man suits came flying out, opening up and wrapping around him like a second skin. As soon as the last piece of metal clicked into place, Tony started up the thrusters, hovering slightly above the ground.

"I'm going to Feldkirch," he announced, through the suit's speakers.

"You can't go now," Wanda said incredulously. "What about the threat from HYDRA? We need you here!"

"I'm sorry, guys, but I need to do this," Tony replied. "This might be my uncle. I need to check out the scene of his death, get DNA samples for JARVIS to analyse and bring the poor guy home."

"Are you sure now is the best time to do this?" Natasha asked calmly. "Wanda's right, we need you here."

Tony shook his head, the suit whirring as it mimicked his movements.

"Guys, this is one of my fastest suits," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'll be gone for 24 hours max. I'm sure nothing's going to go catastrophically wrong in the next 24 hours."

He was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a lot's going on, isn't it? Are you keeping up with it all?
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "The Traitor" and it's going to be INTENSE.


	5. The Traitor

Steve woke early the next day.

He lay still for a moment, enjoying the warm, comfortable feeling of floating halfway between sleeping and wakefulness, before his eyes snapped open, the events of the previous day rushing back to him.

His eyes immediately zeroed in on his bedside clock: _06:00_.

His heartbeat quickened, acutely aware that the other Avengers were unlikely to be awake this early. If he was to slip from the tower unnoticed, it had to be now.

He silently slipped out of bed, pulling on his SHIELD battle uniform rather than his Captain America uniform. He was going to meet Brock and the rest of his team at Konnor's Fish Factory; it wouldn't do to draw attention to himself and give away their location by wearing something so distinctive.

He rifled through his drawers, finding a plain navy hoodie and putting it on over his uniform, before reaching for his baseball cap and pulling the brim down low over his eyes.

He studied himself in the mirror. He looked thoroughly ordinary and unremarkable.

_Excellent._

"Would you like me to make your usual morning cup of coffee, sir?" JARVIS asked politely.

Steve jumped, having forgotten all about the AI.

"Thanks JARVIS, but I think I'll pass. I want to go out for a jog in the park first," he lied.

JARVIS was silent for a second. For the last few weeks, he had taken to making Steve a cup of coffee every morning. The coffee machine was Wi-Fi enabled, like most things in Avengers Tower. "You are wearing your SHIELD combat uniform," he observed.

Was Steve imagining it, or did JARVIS sound suspicious? His heartbeat skyrocketed. "It's just in case I run into any HYDRA operatives," he said quickly. "It's just a precaution."

He grabbed his pistol and stuck it in his holster, before quietly hurrying to the lift and pressing the button.

Nothing happened.

Goose pimples erupted all over the back of his neck as adrenaline surged through his body.

"JARVIS?" he asked evenly. "Is there a problem?"

There was the slightest of pauses before the lift doors opened.

"Not at all, sir," came the reply.

Steve stepped into the lift, concentrating on keeping his breathing even and natural.

 _You're just being paranoid_ , he told himself. _There's no way that JARVIS knows._

The lift descended quickly and reached the ground floor in less than a minute, the doors opening with a gentle ding.

"Thanks, JARVIS," he smiled.

The AI did not reply.

He looked down at his watch as he stepped out of the lift and jogged towards the exit. The time was 06:20.

 

* * *

 

It was 06:45 when the other Avengers were woken abruptly from their sleep by alarms blaring in their rooms.

"Excuse the unconventional wake-up call," JARVIS said over the speaker system, "But sir asked me to inform you immediately if Agent Brock Rumlow was seen on any cameras or satellite imagery. He has just been picked up outside Konnor's Fish Factory on New York docks. The footage is grainy but I estimate there is a 90% chance it is him."

The five of them immediately got up and started to get dressed.

"Do you have any more details?" asked Natasha, as she pulled her Widow's Bite electroshock weapons onto her wrists, before reaching for her gun and night-night pistol.

"He only stepped outside of the factory for a brief moment," JARVIS replied. "He did not appear to be armed, but it is likely he has weapons inside the facility."

"So he's inside the factory now?" asked Pietro.

"Yes, sir," said JARVIS.

The five of them gathered in the main communal area.

Natasha, Wanda and Pietro were suited up in their battle uniforms. Bruce and Clint were in their civilian clothing.

"Where's Steve?" asked Pietro, looking around.

"Captain Rogers left Avengers Tower around half an hour ago to go for a jog in the park," said JARVIS. "However, cameras have just picked him up in the New York docks area."

"He must be going after HYDRA by himself," said Wanda, looking horrified.

Clint frowned with confusion. "How does he even know where they are?" he said.

"That doesn't matter," Natasha cut in. "Now that he's there, we need to provide him with back-up. Wanda, Pietro and I will go down to the docks. Bruce and Clint, I need you to provide us with assistance over comms. You'll have access to satellites and any internet-connected cameras on the ground. Keep an eye out for anyone who could be a HYDRA operative."

They exchanged nods, their expressions serious and focused.

"I'll run ahead," said Pietro, stretching his legs. "I can get there faster than you guys, even when you're driving."

"Fine," said Natasha, pressing her comms device into her ear.

Wanda reached out a hand to her brother, who took it gently.

"Be safe," she said softly, giving his hand a little squeeze.

"You too," he said, pulling her into a gentle hug. "I'll see you at the docks."

The twins held each other silently for a moment. They always did this; it was their pre-battle ritual, to hold each other tight. It reminded them of the faith they had in one another and the strength they had together as a team.

"See you at the docks," Wanda murmured into his shoulder, her hand threading through Pietro's hair affectionately, like their mother had used to do with them both when they were young.

Pietro rested his forehead against his sister's for a moment before turning away and running down the stairs at super speed and making his way out of the tower.

He found moving at super speed to be strangely soothing. Whilst to everyone else it looked as if he was zipping around as a dizzying pace, from his perspective everything was moving in slow motion.

He ran steadily towards the docks, his feet finding a rhythm as he ran across the roads and pavements.

New York was waking up. Bright-eyed residents were stepping out of their apartments, ready to enjoy the fresh Saturday morning with their loved ones.

 _Helicarriers fall from the sky in Washington DC, HYDRA comes out of the shadows, and they just carry on as if nothing's happened,_ marvelled Pietro. He admired people's resilience.

A few metres ahead of him, a little girl walking hand in hand with her father dropped a teddy bear. Pietro watched as, from his perspective, the soft toy started falling in slow motion. The movement was almost imperceptible as it fell downwards, millimetre by millimetre. He caught it easily and placed it back in the little girl's hand, before she had probably even noticed she had dropped it.

Smiling, he swerved past the family and continued on his way.

He smelled the salty sea air. He was close.

He rounded a corner and found himself on the docks. He made a beeline for Konnor's Fish Factory, slipping inside and hiding behind a piece of old machinery as he finally reverted back to normal speed to catch his breath.

"I'm here," he whispered, just loud enough for his comms device to pick up his voice.

He shivered, remembering the last time he had been at the factory; how the Avengers had come under attack, how Tony had almost _died_.

He could hear voices coming from one of the side rooms and softly padded towards the source of the noise. It sounded as if there were about 5 men in there, talking in hushed voices.

He crept right up to the door and pulled his night-night gun from its holster.

"You know, this lot couldn't believe it when I told them at first," Brock was saying.

The men laughed.

"Stop," came Steve's voice suddenly. "We have company."

Pietro's eyes widened in shock before Brock stepped out of the room and hauled him inside, dragging him by the arm.

He tried to run away at super speed but it was no use; Brock's grip on his arm was simply too strong for him to pull away.

Pietro looked at Steve. He appeared to be unharmed, thank God, but so did the HYDRA agents.

_Why weren't they fighting?_

"Steve?" said Pietro, his voice shaking slightly. "What's going on?"

Steve was staring at him hard, a look of intense concentration on his face. For a moment, Pietro could have sworn he saw a flash of pain in the Captain's eyes.

"Are you wearing comms?" Steve asked.

Pietro stared at him in disbelief, shocked and angry at Steve's stupidity; if HYDRA didn't know about the comms before, they did now.

He squirmed as Brock's fingers roughly tore the miniature earpiece and microphone from his ear and throat. Brock threw the devices to the ground and stamped on them hard, the delicate electronics shattering under his boots.

The other Avengers all jerked at the sudden crackling sound in their ears. Natasha's training was the only thing that stopped her from swerving the van in shock.

"Pietro?" Wanda whispered, her eyes widening with fear.

"What was that?" Natasha demanded. "Pietro? Can you hear us?"

Silence.

"Bruce, what happened?" she snapped.

"I'm not sure," Bruce replied, typing frantically as he tried to re-establish the connection. "We've just lost comms with Pietro. I can't re-connect."

Natasha thought fast. "Are there any CCTV cameras inside the factory, JARVIS?" she asked. "Any way for us to see what's going on in there?"

"Building records show that CCTV cameras are installed inside the facility, but they are not online which means that I cannot connect with them," said JARVIS. "You will need to go on-site in order to access the factory's CCTV footage."

Clint swore angrily under his breath, feeling useless stuck in the tower. He was close to Pietro; he hated the feeling of helplessness, knowing that his friend was in trouble.

"At least Steve's there," he said, trying to quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach. "The two of them will probably have finished kicking HYDRA's asses by the time we get there."

"Let's hope so," said Natasha, stealing a quick glance sideways at Wanda who was sat next to her, hands clasped tight in her lap, a look of barely contained terror on her face.

Natasha looked at the clock on the dashboard: 07:10

She pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator.

 

* * *

 

Steve glanced down at his wristwatch as he finally arrived at Konnor's Fish Factory: 06:51.

He pushed the door and found it opened easily to his touch.

He stepped inside, smoothing down his hair and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness.

"Hail HYDRA," came a whisper to his right.

Steve pulled out his pistol and whipped around to see Brock chuckling as he stepped out of the shadows.

Steve relaxed, putting his pistol back in its holster. "Hail HYDRA," he replied, raising both arms. "And don't sneak up on me like that."

Brock smirked and starting walking through the old machines, towards a side room where Steve could hear voices. "The rest of the gang is through here," he said.

Steve followed him, curious as to whom the rest of the team would be. They stepped into the room and the four men who were there fell silent.

Steve recognised one of them as Jack Rollins, a SHIELD agent he had been on a mission with about a month before. The other three also looked vaguely familiar.

"You may recognise my STRIKE team?" Brock smirked.

Ah, so that was where he recognised them from. Steve nodded, stepping forward to shake hands with the men.

"I don't think I need to introduce this guy to you," Brock continued, turning to his team. "I'm sure you all know Captain America."

Jack shook his head in amazement. "I thought you were just bullshitting us," he said. He flushed as Steve shook his hand. "It's an honour to meet you, sir."

Steve gave him a tight smile and stepped back, observing the team. They were all well-built and well-trained, the ultimate fighting force.

"You know, this lot couldn't believe it when I told them at first," Brock said, shaking his head and grinning.

They all laughed.

_Footsteps..._

Steve stilled, straining his ears. Yes, soft and slow, just outside the door - he could definitely hear footsteps.

He held up his hand to quieten the others. "Stop," he commanded. "We have company."

He pointed to the door and Brock strode over there instantly, disappearing for a second before hauling in a struggling Pietro by the arm.

Steve stared at him in shock.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

He watched the blonde as he struggled in Brock's tight grip. He was straining hard and closing his eyes, obviously trying - but failing - to escape using his super speed.

"Steve? What's going on?" Pietro's eyes were wide and frightened. He had clearly noticed the lack of a struggle between Steve and the other HYDRA operatives.

_Shit._

Steve waited a few more seconds before he spoke. "Are you wearing comms?" he asked quietly.

Pietro stared at him in horror, his mouth open in disbelief, as Brock plucked the devices from his ear and throat and threw them to the ground, obliterating them under his boots.

"He's not anymore," Brock sneered cruelly. "What shall we do with this freak? I think he's earned himself a punishment for sneaking up on us like that."

The other men nodded in agreement. Jack cracked his knuckles and stepped forward as he gave Pietro a pitiless grin, clearly enjoying intimidating the younger man.

"Hit his elbow," Steve said quietly, stepping between Jack and Pietro.

Brock's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "What?"

"Hit his elbow," Steve repeated, closing his eyes. "Make sure you get his funny bone."

At this, Pietro started struggling in earnest, planting his feet in the ground and trying desperately to use his whole body to throw Brock off him. "Steve!" he shouted, the panic and hurt obvious in his voice.

Brock smashed his fist into Pietro's elbow. Steve heard the crunch of breaking bone, followed by Pietro's agonised scream.

"Steve!" he repeated, sobbing this time. "What's going on?"

Steve clenched his fists, remembering how Howard had said those exact same words over 70 years before.

He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Pietro's forehead.

Pietro stilled, the tears stopping instantly as he stared at Steve in shock.

"Steve?" he whispered. "I thought we were friends?"

Steve flicked off the safety catch. "I'm sorry," he said softly, looking Pietro straight in the eyes. "You weren't supposed to be here."

He fired the pistol.

Pietro died instantly.

The other HYDRA operatives were staring at him in shock. Brock stood frozen for a moment before letting go of Pietro's arm, causing the body to fall to the floor with an undignified thud. "Holy shit," Brock whispered. "That was awesome."

He whooped and the rest of the STRIKE team followed suit, grinning and high-fiving one another.

Steve bit down hard on his lip.

"We need to talk," he snapped. "I'm really not happy with the direction HYDRA is going in."

"Aww, don't tell me you had feelings for your freaky little friend here," Brock said in a mock baby voice, gesturing to the dead body at his feet.

Pietro's eyes were still open, fixing him with an empty, accusing stare.

"I'm talking about your little stunt with the Helicarriers," Steve said coldly. "Killing people before they become a threat really isn't my style."

Brock glared at him. "Like I said before, a lot has changed in the last 70 years," he said. "And that includes the way HYDRA operates."

"The top brass in HYDRA are pretty pissed off that you brought the Helicarriers crashing down, by the way," Jack interjected.

"Pretty pissed off?" shouted Steve, rounding on him. "I'm freaking _furious_ that such a plot was even allowed to run its course!"

He stood there, shaking, as he trying to rein in his emotions.

"Hey, calm down, soldier," said Brock, his expression changing to one of genuine concern. "We'll let the big boss know your thoughts. I'm sure he'll take them into consideration; your actions today have proven you're a loyal HYDRA agent, after all."

They all gazed down at Pietro's still body.

"Take me to him," Steve said quietly.

The other men exchanged uneasy glances.

"I don't know if we're allowed to do that," Jack said hesitantly.

"Guys, come on," Steve pressed. "I've just killed an Avenger. You can bet the rest of them are coming here right now. I don't think they're going to welcome me back with open arms when they realise what I've done. You've _got_ to let me come with you."

"I don't know," said Jack, sounding unsure.

"He's coming with us," Brock said firmly. "He's right; the Avengers aren't dumb and shit is going to go down once they realise what happened here."

The others nodded reluctantly.

"Anyone got a problem with that?" Brock glared.

"No, boss," the men replied, sounding more confident this time.

"Good. It's time to leave," said Brock, leading them out of the side room and towards the exit.

Steve glanced down at his watch: 07:05

The men were gathered at the door, where Jack was handing out the reflective sheeting that Steve recognised from the fight with the drugs gang.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Wrap these around yourselves," Jack instructed. "They'll mess with any cameras and satellites that are watching."

Steve pulled the reflective sheet around himself tightly, making sure it covered all of him. The sheet was transparent from the inside, allowing him to see unimpeded.

Once they were all wrapped up, the six of them quickly exited the building, making their way towards two dark cars that were parked a short distance away.

Steve clambered into the back of one of them with Brock and strapped himself in as Jack started the ignition.

Steve watched out of the window as the car sped out of the docks and joined the flow of traffic travelling north through the city.

He was finally getting to meet the head of HYDRA.

It was long overdue.

"Are you ready to go into the belly of the beast?" Brock joked next to him and Steve hummed in response.

He pictured Pietro lying on the factory floor, his eyes wide and glassy.

_Steve? What's going on?_

He pressed his thigh against Brock's, feeling the other man tense slightly before relaxing and pushing back.

He put his hand on Brock's knee and stroked it briefly before placing his hand back in his lap.

A cold look settled in his eyes as he smiled.

"I'm ready."

 

* * *

 

Natasha and Wanda arrived at Konnor's Fish Factory at 07:13.

Natasha jumped out of the van and ran to Wanda's side to help her out.

The younger woman had gone as pale as a ghost. She swayed slightly when she stood.

"I can't feel him," Wanda whispered. "Natasha, I can't feel him." Panic was plastered across her face.

Natasha didn't fully understand exactly how Wanda's powers worked, but she had always got the impression that she had a particularly strong connection with Pietro, and that she had the ability to sense her brother's moods and thoughts, even at a distance.

_If she could no longer feel that connection..._

"He must have just been knocked out," she said, trying to sound reassuring but authoritative. She put her finger under Wanda's chin, forcing her to look up into her eyes. "I know it's hard, but I need you to focus, OK? Pietro and Steve need our help in there. Do you think you can keep it together just a little bit longer?"

Wanda nodded mutely and Natasha gave her a quick smile as she wiped her thumb across Wanda's cheeks to wipe away a few tears that had escaped.

"Good," she said, pulling out her pistol and flicking off the gun's safety catch. "Let's go save our boys."

They ran silently towards the entrance of Konnor's Fish Factory.

The door was slightly ajar, allowing them to slip inside easily.

Natasha took the lead, silently edging along the side of the factory, her gun held out in front of her as she scanned her surroundings.

Wanda followed silently, using her powers to scan the mental landscape; trying to pick up on any brain activity in the area.

"I don't think anyone else is here," she whispered. "The only mind I can pick up on is yours."

Natasha frowned. "Bruce, Clint, can you give us any intel?"

She could hear Bruce typing in her ear. "Pietro entered the factory at 06:55 and no one appears to have left since that time. A couple of cars nearby did move off a few minutes ago, but I didn't see anyone get in them so the occupants must have already been in the vehicles," he rattled off.

"Where is everyone?" Natasha murmured to herself.

Just then, she spotted a side room and raised her hand, signalling Wanda to stop. She pointed to the room and the two of them moved forwards cautiously. They couldn't hear any sounds coming from the room, but you could never be too careful with HYDRA.

Wanda conjured up red fire, twisting it around her fingers. Natasha once again held her gun out in front of her.

On the count of three, Natasha rounded the corner and burst into the room, with Wanda hot on her heels.

Natasha stopped instantly, twisting herself around and trying to push Wanda out of the room before she could see the scene inside.

"Natasha, what are y-" Wanda began, trying to peer around the other woman as Natasha gripped her shoulders and pushed firmly.

She ducked to the side and saw a pale blue-clad arm on the floor.

The rest of the sentence died in her throat.

"Pietro?" she whispered.

Natasha's shoulders slumped, her eyes closed.

"Move!" shouted Wanda, breaking free from Natasha's grip at last. "He's injured, we've got to-"

She choked as she finally saw what Natasha had been trying so hard to hide from her.

Pietro was sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, a bullet wound in the exact centre of his forehead.

Wanda's breaths started coming out in sharp bursts, her lungs trying to draw in oxygen but her body failing to process it properly. Her hands started to shake as she swayed, feeling light-headed and sick.

Pietro's eyes were still open, the pale blue orbs now glassy and empty.

"Pietro," she whispered again, trying with all her might to connect with his mind but instead reaching out and finding nothing.

He was dead.

"No!" she screamed, her sobs shaking her whole body as she collapsed to her knees next to him.

She grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed it tightly, moaning with grief as she held the familiar shape. He was still warm, but there was no heartbeat under his skin, no familiar crackle of electricity for her to pick up on.

She could see red fire forming around her, whipping around like a mini-tornado as Natasha shouted something, her voice sounding distant and far away.

This couldn't be happening. Pietro, her twin brother, her best friend, the one who would hold her in the night when she had nightmares, the one who had looked after her after the death of their parents, couldn't be _dead_.

The tornado of red fire rose higher and started ballooning in size, the energy pushing Natasha back, who was by now shouting at her urgently, waving her arms frantically.

Wanda let her head fall back as the tears rolled down her cheeks, screaming until her throat was burning and the edges of her vision started to blur. 

She reached out a hand and gently closed her brother's eyes, her finger accidentally brushing against the bullet wound in his forehead.

Grief and anger stabbed at her.

Someone had done this deliberately. Someone had _murdered_ her brother.

Rage exploded inside of her and the red fire, which by now had expanded to fill most of the factory roof, blew outwards and shattered the factory windows, the glass raining down like tiny, deadly diamonds.

The burst of energy sobered her and she bowed her head as her cries quietened down, the red fire dissipating like smoke.

"Wanda?"

She saw Natasha emerging slowly from underneath a sturdy-looking table.

"I'm sorry," Wanda whispered miserably. "I shouldn't have lost control like that."

Natasha walked over to her silently, crouching down and pulling her into a gentle hug. Wanda buried her face in her shoulder, quickly soaking the material there.

"Don't apologise," she said quietly, stroking Wanda's hair.

"Can someone please tell us what the hell is going on?" Clint's voice seemed obscenely loud over comms.

Natasha glared as she adjusted her comms device, which had been knocked loose when she'd dived for cover under the table. "Would you mind keeping your voice down?" she bit out icily.

"What's happened?" Bruce asked softly, after a small pause.

Wanda wiped her eyes, hiccupping quietly. "Pietro's dead," she whispered, before letting out a tiny moan and burying her face in Natasha's shoulder again, tears trickling silently down her cheeks.

"No," said Clint, sounding horrified. He swore viciously, and the sound of something smashing came over comms a few seconds later.

"I'm so sorry," said Bruce. His voice sounded rough and raw. "Any sign of Steve?"

"No," Natasha replied. "There's no sign of HYDRA either, we must have missed them somehow."

"Do you think they've kidnapped Steve?" asked Clint, sounding alarmed.

Natasha frowned as she took in her surroundings. Strangely, there was no evidence of a struggle. "I think we need to check the CCTV footage," she said.

"OK," said Bruce. "If you film the screens with the new cameras Tony made for us, then Clint and I will be able to see the footage too."

Natasha nodded and brushed Wanda's hair out of her eyes. "Do you feel OK to come find the CCTV footage with me? You can stay here with Pietro, if you want."

Being so tender didn't come naturally to Natasha, but she was making a special effort for Wanda. Pietro had meant everything to Wanda, and Natasha knew what it was like to lose everything.

"I'll come," Wanda said in a small voice, jutting out her jaw defiantly.

Natasha gave her hand a quick squeeze and stood, leading Wanda out of the room and towards the CCTV control room she had spotted earlier.

They entered the cramped little room and Natasha sat down on the rickety office chair in front of the main monitor.

"When did you say Pietro entered the building?" she asked.

"06:55," said Bruce.

Natasha's fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up the camera feeds from that time.

Wanda pulled out the small field camera that Tony had given them before he'd left for Feldkirch and flick it on. She pointed it at the screens.

"Can you see what we're seeing?" she asked.

She could hear Bruce typing away at the other end of the line. "Yes," he said, a couple of seconds later. "Play the footage."

Natasha hit the play button and the scene unfolded across the various camera views displayed on the monitors.

They watched silently as Pietro materialised next to a piece of machinery. What drew everyone's attention, however, was what they could see unfolding in the other room.

Steve was in the side room with Rumlow and four HYDRA agents, shaking their hands.

"What-" Clint began.

"Quiet," snapped Natasha, staring hard at the screen.

They watched with trepidation as Pietro crept up to the side room, pulling out his night-night pistol.

Inside the room, Steve had suddenly held up his hand and turned towards the door.

" _Leave_..." Wanda whispered, reaching out and touching her brother on the screen.

They watched in horror as Brock strode out and dragged Pietro into the room. Clint gasped as Brock smashed in Pietro's elbow a few seconds later.

Pietro and Steve appeared to be exchanging words, although they couldn't hear what they were saying as the CCTV cameras didn't record sound.

Steve pulled out his pistol.

Natasha closed her eyes, clenching her fists as she heard Wanda gasp next to her and Bruce and Clint cry out over comms.

When she opened her eyes, Pietro was lying motionless on the ground, the HYDRA agents seemingly celebrating with a round of high-fives.

She watched numbly as Steve and the HYDRA agents headed towards the exit and vanished from view as they pulled some kind of material over themselves.

She paused the footage.

"What did we just see?" asked Bruce, sounding as shocked as she felt.

"Steve," said Clint, his voice shaking with rage. "Steve is with fucking HYDRA."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," started Natasha, but she was instantly cut off by Clint and Wanda.

"Steve did it," Wanda murmured, her small hands shaking with anger. "Steve killed my brother."

Natasha fell silent. She had to admit, it did look bad.

"He must have been with HYDRA all along," ranted Clint. "Think about all those nights he spent at Brock's apartment! It all makes sense now; they must have been having a right old laugh at us behind our backs as they plotted their... their evil fucking plans!"

"He pretended to be our friend," said Wanda quietly. "He made us trust him and then he-" She closed her eyes as her throat tightened up with emotion.

"He lied to us," said Clint. "He's a liar and a fraud. And he's with fucking _HYDRA!_ "

"No, sorry, I mean, what did we see at the end of the footage?" Bruce cut in, somehow managing to sound both apologetic and urgent.

"They vanished," Natasha said slowly, before cottoning on to what Bruce was thinking and letting out a small gasp. "Oh God, the cars that you saw driving off just before we arrived... They must have been carrying Steve and the other HYDRA men."

"Exactly," said Bruce grimly. "JARVIS, can you track where those cars have gone?"

There was a tiny pause as JARVIS scanned through all the satellite footage and CCTV cameras in New York.

"The two vehicles in question have just arrived at the private residence of Mr. Alexander Pierce, a member of the World Security Council," he announced.

"Shit," said Clint.

"They must be there to assassinate or kidnap him," said Natasha, getting up and running out of the factory towards their van, Wanda close behind her. "Bruce, send me the fastest route to his residence. We need to save Mr. Pierce."

She started up the engine and floored the accelerator.

 

* * *

 

Brock and the others escorted Steve into a large, expensive-looking house.

It was surrounded by a high wall that ran all the way around the perimeter and had an imposing, wrought iron front gate.

As they stepped into the house, Steve couldn't help letting out a hum of amazement. The house was beautifully decorated, with high ceilings, flawlessly white walls and classical paintings and statues dotted around discreetly.

Whoever this house belonged to was clearly a man of high-status, wealth and power.

Brock led Steve through the house and opened a door to a study. Steve stepped inside.

"We're going to go now," said Brock, gesturing to himself and the rest of his men. "The big boss will be down for you shortly."

Steve nodded his thanks and watched them leave.

This room was smaller than the others. Tall bookcases lined the walls, creating a cosy, intellectual vibe.

He walked over to the nearest bookcase and started studying some of the titles: American Military History, volumes 1 to 8; The Rise And Fall Of Nazi Germany; Trench Warfare And How It Changed The World.

"Do you like to read, Captain?"

Steve spun around in shock.

A man who looked to be in his late seventies was stood just inside the door, a wry smile on his face as he calmly tucked a handkerchief into his suit pocket.

His grey hair was brushed back crisply, his eyes a sharp, clear blue.

"I don't believe we've had the honour of meeting," he continued, when Steve didn't reply. "Alexander Pierce, member of the World Security Council and head of HYDRA."

He held out his hand and Steve shook it mutely. Without warning, Pierce pulled him closer, apparently much stronger than he looked.

Steve could feel his warm breath against his ear. "Hail HYDRA," whispered Pierce. He smirked as he pulled away, settling down in a leather armchair.

"Hail HYDRA," said Steve, raising his arms as a sign of respect. "And the honour is all mine, sir. I can't believe I've finally been allowed to meet you. I'm Steve Rogers, by the way," he added, suddenly feeling stupid as Pierce chuckled at him.

"I know who you are," he smirked.

Steve heard movement behind him and turned to see the Asset, dressed again in his full combat gear, a mask and goggles covering his face.

"Hello," said Steve, smiling nervously.

"Don't talk to the Asset," drawled Pierce, looking vaguely amused for some reason. "He's not much of a talker. Are you?" he said, raising his voice and turning to look directly at the Asset.

The Asset did not respond.

Pierce laughed softly. "He's not much of a thinker, either," he said. "But he's my bodyguard for the time being, so I've got to keep him around."

"Right," said Steve, not knowing how to respond to that.

They sat in silence for a while as Steve pondered where to begin. He had so much he wanted to say.

"Are you planning on saying anything, son, or are you the tall and silent type like Mr. Talkative over there?" said Pierce, gesturing towards the Asset. "Not that I'd mind looking at your pretty face all day, but I have an organisation to run."

Steve wasn't sure if he was referring to the World Security Council or HYDRA.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm just a bit overwhelmed. I've been dreaming about this moment for so long, it's kind of hard to believe this is actually happening," said Steve. He paused, thinking hard. "I want to know more about HYDRA. I want to know its reach in the present age. I think I deserve to know that basic information at least."

Pierce raised an eyebrow. " _Deserve_ to know?" he echoed. "And why do you think you _deserve_ to know anything?"

Steve leaned forward in his seat as he implored the man in front of him. "Please, sir, I've sacrificed a lot for HYDRA. I practically died for HYDRA when I went into the ice. I've killed SHIELD agents for you. Today, I killed a fellow _Avenger_ for you."

Pierce hummed and looked at Steve seriously over the top of his glasses.

"I'm very displeased with you, Captain Rogers, for destroying my Helicarriers in Washington DC," he scolded. "Those machines would have done a lot of good for HYDRA."

Steve flushed as he twisted his fingers in his lap. "I'm sorry, sir, but I had to maintain my cover," he said, before pressing on, figuring that he might as well reveal the whole of his reasoning. "It also struck me as...immoral, sir. I disagree with killing people before they've done something wrong."

To Steve's surprise, Pierce smiled. "I admire a man who has the balls to stand up for his beliefs," he said, looking pleased.

"Thank you, sir," said Steve, feeling confused.

"So, you want to know the reach of HYDRA?"

Steve nodded.

"There are around 5,000 HYDRA operatives around the world," said Pierce. "I have all their details on record, and they're all being monitored by the very top HYDRA agents. That way, any dissidents can be spotted early and killed before they cause us any big trouble."

Steve nodded slowly. "Where do you keep so many records? 5,000 is a lot of operatives."

"These new things called computers are a wonderful thing, honey," Pierce smirked.

Steve blushed and shifted uncomfortably; he didn't like Pierce calling him pet names, but he supposed a man like Pierce had the authority to call whoever he wanted, whatever he wanted.

"You're not the only one with questions, by the way," Pierce continued. "I want to know how your mission to find the head of SHIELD is going. I'd love to get rid of SHIELD now that we've come out into the open; they've always been a huge thorn in HYDRA's side."

Before Steve could open his mouth to answer, he spotted some movement out of the window and hurled himself sideways to the floor. A bullet shattered the study window and struck the chair he had been sitting in mere milliseconds before.

The Asset instantly moved forward towards Pierce to protect him, reaching out with his metal arm.

Steve watched helplessly as a second bullet ricocheted off the Asset's goggles, causing him to stagger momentarily.

The Asset reached up and pulled off his goggles as Wanda blasted the window with a ball of red energy, causing it to shatter into tiny pieces.

Natasha and Wanda climbed through the window, guns and red fire at the ready, respectively.

"Mr. Pierce, we're here to rescue you!" shouted Natasha. "Run!"

Alexander Pierce fell into the role of captured victim perfectly as he fled the scene, giving Steve a dark smile as he ran past.

Steve saw Natasha raise her gun and struck out at her instantly, lashing hard against the side of her head.

Natasha fell to the floor with a grunt and Steve climbed on top of her, putting his hands around her throat and squeezing tight.

Natasha struggled violently, writhing and twisting with all her not-inconsiderable strength.

"Just give up, Natasha," Steve hissed. "Stop fighting me."

She threw him a look of utter contempt, her face slowly turning purple.

Steve could see sweat erupting on her forehead as the whites of her eyes started to turn pink.

Still, she stubbornly clung onto consciousness.

A sudden scream to his left caused Steve to look up in alarm.

A ribbon of red sparks connected Wanda's forehead to the Asset's; she was clearly trying to force her way into his mind to subdue him. Equally clear was that something was going terribly wrong.

The Asset was screaming, his face twisted as if in agony, as sweat and tears poured down his face.

He lashed out blindly with his knife, missing Wanda by inches.

"Let me in," Wanda panted. "It'll stop hurting if you just let me in."

The Asset was moaning, clutching at his hair and shaking his head violently, in obvious pain as he tried to mentally push back against Wanda's invasion.

Wanda gritted her teeth and pushed harder, a thick flurry as red sparks rushing from her own mind into the Asset's.

The Asset was somehow managing to push back against her, as if he had previous experience of trying to stop someone entering his mind.

Wanda knew she was stronger, however, and pushed harder, screwing her eyes shut in concentration. She could feel the edges of his mind buckling under the pressure of her onslaught and then, suddenly, she broke through.

She inhaled sharply as she was inundated with seemingly endless waves of emotion crashing down on her.

Pain, fear, anguish, rage, confusion and intense sadness all battered her mind as the Asset's mental suffering flowed from his mind into hers.

She could feel tears erupting from her eyes as she staggered backwards with a howl; the intensity of the Asset's suffering causing her to feel a deep, physical pain.

"Make it stop!" shouted the Asset, lunging towards her with both arms outstretched.

She ducked to the side to avoid his clutches and frantically tried to disconnect her mind from his. The pain was building up in her head, messing with her senses and causing her to crash straight into a heavy wooden desk.

She turned around and suddenly found herself face to face with the Asset, his blue eyes boring into hers miserably as he gripped her tightly by the shoulders. "Make it stop," he begged again.

"I can't," she whispered, the edges of her vision starting to blur as the pain built up to a crescendo in her head.

She let out a scream as the Asset threw her violently against the desk, knocking her out cold immediately.

The red sparks died away instantly and the Asset collapsed against the desk as he was released from the mental introspection he'd been forced to endure under Wanda's magic.

Steve watched as the Asset's head smashed against the table leg, causing his mask to finally detach from his face.

Time seemed to stop.

Steve's heart skipped a beat, then two.

He released Natasha's throat in shock.

Staring at him, slumped against the dark mahogany wood of Alexander Pierce's desk, was the face that had haunted his nightmares for months.

Clear blue eyes, softer-than-it-looks brown hair and that _face,_ that face that had gazed up at him in terror as he fell from the train to certain death on an Austrian mountainside.

_Impossible._

"Bucky?" he gasped, staring at him with equal parts hope and fear.

The Asset's brow scrunched up in confusion. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

Natasha suddenly sat up and pressed her Widow's Bite against his neck, discharging 50,000 volts into him.

Steve was knocked unconscious immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P. Pietro :'(
> 
> Bucky though...
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments (I like it).
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "Vengeance". In which Steve will finally get his revenge.


	6. Vengeance

Steve regained consciousness slowly.

His head was throbbing with pain, sharp daggers stabbing at his skull at the slightest movement.

He hissed as he slowly sat up in his chair. His body felt heavy, a deep ache permeating his bones. His muscles were tender and sore.

He cracked his eyes open for a second before clamping them shut again almost immediately, gasping. The light practically burned his retinas, causing his eyes to water as a wave of nausea came over him.

He retched for a couple of seconds before heaving up the contents of his stomach all down his front.

His head fell back as he groaned, in pain and now stinking of vomit.

Natasha's Widow's Bite certainly packed a punch.

His training kicked in, forcing him to assimilate information about his surroundings. It felt as though he was sat on a hard metal chair, his hands chained by his sides. When he tried to move his feet, he could feel that they were shackled.

He psyched himself to open his eyes, taking a deep breath and opening them just a fraction before the visual input became overwhelming – so _bright_ – and forced them shut once more.

He recognised the room; it was an interrogation room in Avengers Tower. No doubt JARVIS was keeping a watchful eye on him over the cameras.

He sat motionless for a couple of minutes, trying to limit his movements and keep his head as still as possible so as not to trigger another wave of nausea.

After about 5 minutes, the queasy feeling started to subside and he sighed heavily, finding that the painful fuzziness in his head was finally starting to clear.

His mind turned to the most pressing matter at hand: it had been Bucky, at Pierce's residence, he was 100% sure of it.

He would know those eyes anywhere, that voice.

Bucky was the Asset.

He shivered, feeling sick. Bucky hadn't recognised him. Damn, he hadn't even seemed to know his own _name_.

Steve choked out a quiet sob.

What had happened to Bucky? What had they done to him? And how was it even possible that he was still alive, not a day over 27?

Steve sucked in a horrified breath as he came to the terrible realisation that if Bucky had been able to survive falling from the train, then Steve would certainly have been able to survive jumping after him. If he had just jumped after him, then he could have saved him...

He let out a pained moan, his chest physically hurting as he felt his heart breaking for his best friend.

All this time, Bucky hadn't needed avenging; he'd needed _saving_.

Whilst Steve had been hell-bent on avenging his death, stooping to murdering and spying to get rid of the organisation that had killed him, Bucky had been alive and suffering.

What had Brock said, when he had first mentioned the Asset? _It's nothing important. It's just a weapon that we use._

Hot, wet tears made tracks down Steve's cheeks.

"Are you crying because of what you've done, or because you got caught?" Natasha said quietly.

Steve's eyes snapped open.

Natasha was sat on a chair opposite him, her hands pressed neatly on her knees.

She had entered the room and taken her seat without making a sound. Steve shivered.

He eyed her warily, thankful that the effects of the Widow's Bite finally appeared to have worn off as he was able to open his eyes and move his head without too much discomfort.

Natasha calmly placed a bottle of water on the table between them.

"I'm Natasha Romanov, I'm an agent of SHIELD," she said, watching him intently. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney both before and during this interrogation. If you can't afford an attorney, you have the right to have one appointed at no expense to yourself."

Steve said nothing.

"I don't normally do interrogations," she said amiably. "I'm only here because Clint and Wanda would probably kill you the moment they saw you. And Bruce is currently too fragile to guarantee that his jolly green friend won't pop out to say hello. And Tony's still not back from Feldkirch. And let's not even talk about why Pietro's not here to do this."

Steve looked down, trying not to let Natasha see how much every barb and accusation was having an effect on him. He bit down hard on his bottom lip.

"I also think there may be more to this than meets the eye," she said quietly.

Steve looked up.

"Am I right?" she asked. "Tell me I'm right and that you're not the back-stabbing bastard everyone else thinks you are."

She couldn't quite suppress the quiver in her voice at the end of the sentence. Steve met her eyes, trying to pour everything he wanted to say into that look.

_Please understand._

Natasha appraised him for a long moment before finally bobbing her head in a way that could have been a tiny nod or could have been nothing at all.

"CCTV footage from Konnor's Fish Factory shows that you killed Pietro Maximoff," she said. "Care to tell me why?"

_Steve? What's going on?_

He remembered his pale blue eyes, filled with hurt and shock as he realised Steve's betrayal.

_I thought we were friends._

A solitary tear made its way down Steve's cheek.

_I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to be here._

"No?" said Natasha, when Steve didn't respond. "Well, how about you tell me why you tried to kill me? Or Alexander Pierce? I assume it's because he's with the World Security Council?"

 _Pierce_. Steve gripped the sides of his chair so hard he thought he could feel the metal warping.

Natasha pulled her red hair into a ponytail and Steve winced when he saw the angry black and purple bruises on her neck.

It should be agony for her to speak. With a stab of guilt, Steve realised that it probably was.

Natasha saw him flinch and watched him carefully for a moment.

Steve remained silent, twisting his fingers miserably.

"Tony found Howard's body," she revealed, after a few minutes trickled by in silence. "DNA analysis has confirmed the body is his."

Steve's heart started thumping faster.

"He was killed by a single shot to the forehead. Just like Pietro."

Steve let out a tiny moan as he let his head fall backwards and hit the back of the chair.

"Given the similarities in the two deaths, and the fact that you knew the location of Howard Stark's body when no one else did, you're also suspected of his murder."

Howard's wide brown eyes flashed through his mind, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared down the barrel of Steve's pistol.

Steve buried his head in his hands.

_Sometimes you have to play the long game._

"Tony's flying back here right now," Natasha said quietly. "I don't think you want to be here when he gets back. Clint and Wanda I can manage; Tony not so much."

Steve looked up at her carefully.

"Crazy weather. My Great-Aunt Mabel would have had a heart attack," he said slowly.

Natasha stared back at him, her face impassive.

"I'm not playing your games," she said softly, after a long pause.

Steve looked away angrily.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Are you SHIELD? Are you HYDRA?"

 _Is there even any difference anymore?_ Steve thought bitterly.

His thoughts snapped back once again to Bucky, his face bloody as he sat slumped against Pierce's desk.

"He didn't even recognise me," he whispered finally, not bothering to hide the tears trickling down his cheeks.

"Who?" asked Natasha, sitting up as she sensed a change in atmosphere in the room.

Steve played absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt, picking at a loose thread. If he pulled it, how much would unravel?

"Bucky", he said, his voice breaking.

Bucky, whose favourite fruit was blueberries, who loved fairground rides and Christmas, who would tell him every year that the July 4th fireworks on his birthday were especially for him.

Natasha stayed silent as she listened to Bruce typing frantically on the other end of the hidden comms device in her ear.

She frowned as he fed her the information his quick search had found. "Bucky Barnes?" she asked, half to Steve and half to Bruce.

Steve sat motionless for a few seconds, a look of desolation and hopelessness on his face, before he finally gave a tiny nod.

"The Asset. The Winter Soldier," he said listlessly. "It's Bucky."

Natasha sat in silence as she absorbed this new information.

"He was your best friend," she said quietly.

"Yes," whispered Steve.

Natasha sat up a little straighter as she realised her advantage. Bucky was Steve's one and only weakness; exploiting that weakness would unlock either complete cooperation or the ultimate rage. She had to tread carefully.

"He was stood in the same room as me, he looked right at me, and he didn't even recognise me," said Steve, still struggling to understand. "He didn't even know his own name."

"The Winter Soldier escaped from Pierce's house," Natasha revealed, after a slight pause. "We don't know where he is now."

At this, Steve let out a pained moan and gripped his hair tightly, his knuckles turning white.

He couldn't lose Bucky _again_.

He had gone too far, he loved him too much, for that to be an option.

"Steve," Natasha said softly, leaning forward and resting her hand on his arm. "I need you to tell me everything. We can only help Bucky if you talk."

So Steve talked.

 

* * *

 

Around 5 hours later, Steve rested his head against the back of the metal chair he was chained to.

Natasha had left long ago, having listened carefully to everything he had said.

Steve was a liar.

He knew this, he knew he was deep in layers upon layers of lies, and he hated it.

He was sick of the deceit, of having to live a double life, of having to form friendships and allegiances only to turn on the people he had grown to care about – because of course he cared; he was only human, after all.

_Steve? What's going on? I thought we were friends._

He remembered his discussion with the man in the barn, all those years ago.

The man in the barn had warned him that it would be tough, that he would have to do things that went against his principles, that he would be in deep cover. Steve had said he was prepared to do it, but he realised now that he had never truly understood just how difficult it would be.

He sighed. The man had told him he'd have to play the long game. What he hadn't been expecting was that he'd be playing it for over 70 years. But he couldn't stop now, not now he was so near the end.

He was jerked from his thoughts when alarms started blaring throughout the tower.

Steve sat up in his chair, his heart hammering in his chest as he waited for his extraction team to arrive.

The first time he ever went round to Brock's apartment, the two of them had devised a plan of what to do in the event of their capture. Steve had figured that if he himself was uncovered as a HYDRA operative, he would probably be held at Avengers Tower. He had carefully drawn out a detailed map of the tower, including all the security features they would have to be aware of and the override codes they would need.

It seemed that his prior work and planning was finally paying off.

He heard heavy footsteps thudding along the corridor outside his cell and called out, banging his fist against the metal table.

"I'm in here!"

He heard something being attached to the door, followed by a series of electronic beeps that were getting faster and faster.

"Close your eyes!" shouted a voice he recognised as Jack's.

Steve did as he was told, twisting his body away from the door and screwing his eyes shut as the beeps increased in speed into a long, continuous whine.

A small explosion shook the room as the device blew a hole in the door and disintegrated part of the surrounding wall.

Steve opened his eyes to see Brock, Jack and two other HYDRA operatives emerging from the smoke and dust and climbing through the hole towards him.

"You took your time," snapped Steve. "I had to make up a load of bullshit to get the Black Widow off my case."

Brock ignored him and pulled out a key from his pocket, sticking it in Steve's shackles.

Steve raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It's the SHIELD master key," explained Brock, twisting said key. "It opens all of SHIELD's cuffs and restraints."

The shackles popped open immediately, causing Steve to sigh with relief as he stood up, rubbing his wrists and flexing his legs to soothe the dull ache that had been building.

"I thought this was meant to be Avengers Tower," said Jack suspiciously. "Where the hell are the Avengers?"

"Probably on a wild goose chase hunting down HYDRA agents in locations that I made up earlier," said Steve.

"And they believed you?" said Brock, sounding surprised.

"Tricking people is easy when they want to believe what you say," said Steve quietly.

"Nice work," grinned Brock.

They climbed out of the hole in the door and turned right. Brock led the way towards the roof, climbing up the stairs two at a time. The others had to jog to keep up.

"Where are we going?" asked Steve.

"The Triskelion," huffed Jack, beside him.

"The Triskelion?" he said incredulously. "The heart of SHIELD? Isn't that the last place we should be going?"

Jack grinned at him nastily. "SHIELD barely exists anymore," he said. "They're all out desperately trying to defend their military bases from us. There was barely anyone left at the Triskelion by the time we rocked up, and we took care of any stragglers."

He and Brock laughed and high-fived at his last comment.

Steve's jaw jumped imperceptibly.

"Besides," said Brock, "It's the last place they'd look for us."

Steve nodded begrudgingly. He supposed it was true.

Brock wrenched open the heavy metal door at the top of the stairwell and the men exited and made their way towards a Quinjet that was parked on the roof.

As they boarded, Steve took a moment to glance back at the tower that had been his home. He expected to be hit by a mix of feelings: sadness perhaps, or regret, maybe a sense of longing. Instead, he found the only thing he was feeling was a sense of extreme focus mixed with trepidation.

"How long until we land at the Triskelion?" he asked, strapping himself into one of the seats.

"About 30 minutes," said Jack, firing up the engines.

"Will Pierce be there? And the Asset?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yep," said Brock. "A lot of HYDRA's top brass will be there. You'll get to finally meet the dream team."

Steve smiled as he gave Brock's knee a discreet squeeze.

"Good," he said quietly, before turning away to look out of the window as the Quinjet rose into the New York air.

He gazed out across the skyline, his eyes finding themselves drawn to the docks. He wondered which one of those little shapes was Konnor's Fish Factory. In the distance, he spotted the Statue of Liberty, her arm raised proudly above her head.

He rested his head against the window, letting the hum of the engine soothe his racing mind, which felt like it was going at a mile a minute.

He watched the landscape outside change as his mind drifted off into a series of theoretical ramblings: which was more important, truth or justice? Does the end justify the means? Was it even possible to avenge or atone for a death?

 _Stupid, pointless questions_ , he berated himself silently, _it's far too late to wonder these things now._

After a while, he noticed the Quinjet was descending.

"We're here already?" he asked, tapping his feet absentmindedly.

"Yeah, Captain Obvious," sneered one of the younger HYDRA operatives.

Brock reached out and gave the young man a hard smack across the back of the head. "Shut your face," he snarled.

Steve elbowed Brock gently in the ribs, shaking his head and smiling. _It's fine_ , the expression on his face said.

The Quinjet touched down on the roof of the Triskelion and Steve unbuckled himself, getting up and following the others out onto the roof.

The five of them crossed to the door that was set into a small tower that jutted out on the roof and slipped inside.

"Which floor are we headed to?" he asked.

"Pierce said to meet on the fiftieth floor," Brock replied.

"The fiftieth," Steve repeated to himself.

Brock raised an eyebrow before continuing to lead the men through the corridors until they reached the main stairwell.

"Wait," Steve said suddenly, stopping and catching hold of Brock's arm.

The others stopped and turned to look at him with expressions of surprise.

Steve ducked his head and looked at Brock through his eyelashes. "I need to talk to you about something first," he said. "Alone."

Brock nodded, his eyebrows pulled into a concerned frown as he waved at the other operatives to leave. "We'll catch up with you soon," he promised.

Steve watched as the men disappeared into the stairwell and started descending the stairs. He turned to Brock, leaning in and pressing a rough kiss onto his lips.

Brock froze for a moment before relaxing and returning the kiss hungrily. Steve bit down on his lip.

"What do you want?" Brock asked in a low voice, even though there was no one around to hear them.

Steve didn't reply, choosing instead to take him by the hand and pull him roughly into a nearby computer room.

"Kneel," he commanded.

Brock looked at him in shock. "In here?" he said, his pupils blown wide with desire. "God. I knew you were kinky."

He gave Steve another hard kiss before dropping to his knees and putting his hands on Steve's belt.

Steve placed the muzzle of his pistol against Brock's temple.

Brock froze, his eyes wide with shock as he looked up at Steve.

Steve stared down at him with contempt, an expression of cold fury on his face. "Go to the computer," he whispered. "Bring up Pierce's list of all of HYDRA's operatives. I know you have access."

Brock stayed where he was, looking up at him with hurt, anger and confusion written across his face. "What the fuck, Steve?" he choked out.

Steve pressed the pistol harder against his temple. "Do it," he hissed.

Brock staggered to his feet, too shocked to fight back.

He sat down at the computer and started typing, logging in and accessing the secure folder that only Pierce, Brock and the other top operatives had access to.

Brock clicked on the document that contained the list. It needed a password in order to be opened. Why did Steve want the list? He paused.

"Type in the password," Steve said calmly, standing directly behind him.

Brock chewed on his bottom lip.

"Three," said Steve, as he flicked off the safety catch.

Brock swallowed thickly as he swore under his breath.

"Two..."

Brock twisted around in his seat, looking up at Steve imploringly. His face paled when he saw the look in Steve's eyes; there was no mercy there, no leniency. He reached out and touched Steve's hand, the one not holding the pistol. Steve jerked his hand away with a look of disgust.

"One," spat Steve.

Brock turned back around and quickly typed in the password, watching as the file loaded and the name and details of every single HYDRA operative appeared on the screen.

"I thought we were friends," he said, fighting back tears of confusion and bitterness. "Best friends."

He heard Steve laugh harshly at that.

"There was only ever one man worthy of that title," Steve said coldly, his voice shaking slightly with rage. "And it's not you."

He pulled the trigger.

Brock slumped forwards immediately.

Steve turned away and walked briskly out of the room. There were four new armed operatives stood outside the room, dressed all in black and with helmets covering their faces.

"I did it," he said quietly.

One of the shorter operatives nodded and entered the room, closing the door after themselves.

Steve and the others waited in tense silence outside.

After a minute or so, the operative re-emerged calmly from the room, nodding to Steve to confirm that it had been done.

"Time to go meet the others," Steve said shortly, leading the way to the stairwell.

They descended the stairs rapidly, quickly reaching floor fifty.

Steve led the way to the conference room where Jack had said that Pierce and the others would be.

He stepped into the room and raised both arms in the HYDRA salute.

"Hail HYDRA," he shouted.

The HYDRA operatives turned to face him and raised their arms in response. "Hail HYDRA!" they echoed back.

They only had their arms in the air, and more importantly away from their weapons, for the split second. A single second is ample time for trained field agents.

Steve heard the four people behind him raise their weapons and squeeze off their shots in rapid succession. The HYDRA operatives fell to the floor immediately, unmoving.

"What the hell?" said Pierce, his voice slow and dangerous.

He and the Asset remained standing, the only two people to have been untouched by the weapons clasped in the hands of the four people stood behind Steve.

Steve raised his arm and pointed his pistol at Alexander Pierce's forehead.

His arm shook as rage pounded through him.

He could kill him, easily; Pierce was unarmed and his bodyguard, the Asset, was on the other side of the room.

His finger was wrapped around the trigger, ready to fire. This was his real pistol, not his night-night gun; if he pulled the trigger, a real bullet would slice through Pierce's skull.

"Steve," said a sharp voice behind him. "Stop what you're doing. This isn't part of the plan."

Steve stood rooted to the spot, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he gazed at the man in front of him; the man who led HYDRA, who was responsible for so many deaths, who had somehow taken Bucky and replaced him with a mindless slave.

"Screw the plan," he choked out.

Tears blurred his vision, his grip tightening on his pistol. He could end this right now. He could fulfil the promise he'd made to himself over 70 years before, and achieve the vengeance that Bucky deserved.

_Bucky, who died seven decades ago on an Austrian mountainside._

Except Bucky was right there, alive and breathing on the other side of the room. Broken and brainwashed, yes, but alive nonetheless.

What was the right thing to do? What would _Bucky_ want him to do?

Steve let out a shaky breath as he lowered his weapon.

Pierce visibly exhaled before straightening back up. "You shouldn't have done that," he said, a sadistic smile twisting his features. He turned to the Asset, pointing at Steve. "Kill him."

The Asset immediately launched himself at Steve, jumping gracefully over a table and somersaulting before grabbing Steve by the waist and pulling him to the ground.

Steve lurched to the side to avoid the Asset's metal fist as it smashed down into the floor where his head had been a split second before.

He spun himself out from underneath the Asset, blocking his punches as he struggled upright.

"You know me," he grunted out, as the Asset aimed a kick at his torso. Steve had to roll to the floor to avoid it.

The Asset's eyes flashed with anger. "No, I don't!"

Steve's heart jumped painfully as he met his friend's eyes. The blue orbs were so stunningly familiar. Yet whilst they had once looked at Steve with affection, they now contained only confusion and rage.

Steve shivered as he realised there was not even a glimmer of recognition in those eyes.

"Bucky," begged Steve, desperate to make him remember. "You've known me your whole life."

They had played with toy soldiers at each other's houses when they were young, Steve had patched up Bucky's knees when he fell over, Bucky would stay with Steve overnight whenever he had a fever; these were things that they should both be able to remember.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes-" Steve started.

The Asset's eyes widened with shock, an expression of innocent disbelief flitting over his face for a second, before being replaced almost immediately with a look of misery and rage.

"Shut up!" he roared, throwing himself towards Steve, his face contorted with anger.

Steve dodged out of the way before pausing and doing what was possibly the stupidest course of action available to him: he dropped his shield.

It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

His eyes glistened as he gazed at the Asset – _Bucky, his best friend_ – taking in his long matted hair, his scrunched up brow, his eyes filled with pain and confusion.

He didn't even know his own name. They hadn't even allowed him to keep that one measly scrap of himself.

"I'm not gonna fight you," said Steve, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're my friend."

The Asset stood frozen, staring at the shield lying on the ground for a long moment. Steve stood with baited breath, wondering if he was seeing some kind of breakthrough.

His stomach dropped as the Asset shook his head violently before running at Steve with a roar and tackling him to the ground.

"You're my mission!" he spat, pulling back his metal arm and driving it as hard as he could into Steve's face.

Steve's cheek exploded with pain, stars clouding over his vision as his ears rang from the force of the punch.

The Asset pulled his arm back again and brought down his fist two, three, four more times.

Steve tasted blood. It was leaking from the cuts in his battered face. He had bitten his tongue several times. He felt his bladder weaken momentarily.

It dawned on him that he was going to die, here in the Triskelion, in the ruins of SHIELD and HYDRA, as his best friend pummelled the life out of him.

A wave of panic and hopelessness came over him as the direness of the situation hit home.

But he had failed Bucky. This was his punishment.

 _I deserve this_ , he thought miserably.

"Then finish it," he managed to croak out, before remembering, out of the blue, the words that Bucky had said to him all those years ago after his mother's funeral. "Because I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

He stared up at the Asset, who had pulled his arm back to deliver the final blow. If he was going to die, he wanted to die looking into the face he had been grieving and yearning for for so long.

The Asset stared down at him, breathing hard, as his expression slowly changed from one of rage to one of horror.

 _Remember_ , Steve begged silently. _Please, God, let him remember._

The Asset lowered his hand, his face crumpling as tears leaked from his eyes.

Bucky tentatively touched the blood on Steve's cheek. Steve couldn't hold back the hiss of pain that flared at the contact.

"Steve?" Bucky whispered, his voice tight. Memories bubbled to the surface of his mind: a mountainside, warmth and laughter, a little guy from Brooklyn whose clothes never seemed to fit.

"Steve," he repeated, louder this time, standing up and backing away in horror. "Fuck."

He was cut off by Steve, who was suddenly stood in front of him, pulling him into the tightest of hugs.

Steve clamped his arms around Bucky, locking his hands together around his back and refusing to let go, as his tears silently soaked into the leather of his best friend's outfit.

Bucky was moaning softly, as if he were wounded. Steve rubbed his back gently, his hand moving softly in little circles as he whispered in his ear.

"It's OK. You're safe. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You're safe now, Buck..."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the four people who had been stood behind him had taken off their helmets. Natasha, Coulson, Maria Hill and Nick Fury had put Pierce in cuffs and were standing around him in a tight circle.

"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes-"

Bucky tentatively raised his arm and wrapped it around Steve's waist.

Steve closed his eyes as his throat tightened with emotion.

When he finally opened them again, he saw Natasha was pointing her pistol at him. He looked at her calmly and in his eyes was the pain of all the mistakes he'd ever made.

_Howard._

_Pietro._

When Natasha pulled the trigger, he wasn't surprised.

He stayed calm, even as a small gasp escaped his lips.

His arms were still wrapped tight around Bucky as he fell into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww yeah, our boy Bucky is back <3
> 
> How are Bucky and the Avengers and Steve for that matter going to cope with the aftermath of all of Steve's shit now though?
> 
> TEASER: The next chapter will be titled "Heroes" and it's going to explain everything...


	7. Heroes

Steve woke up, which was a surprise in itself, in the medical wing of Avengers Tower.

He groaned softly and raised his head to look down his body. There were no bandages and, strangely, he felt no pain.

"JARVIS, are you there?" he called out cautiously.

He half expected the AI not to answer him; he had betrayed his trust, after all, just like he had betrayed the rest of the Avengers.

"Of course, Captain Rogers," came JARVIS' stiff reply.

Steve let out a small sigh of relief.

"I'm alive," he said, unable to keep the puzzlement from his voice. "Natasha shot me, but I'm alive."

There was a burst of static over the speakers and Steve wondered if this was JARVIS' version of a sigh.

"Yes, Captain Rogers. The night-night pistols are designed to render their targets unconscious, not dead."

_Ah, the night-night pistols._

Steve wondered what it said about him that he had assumed Natasha had been pointing a real pistol at him, with real bullets.

He spotted a second bed in the ward, with crisp white curtains drawn around it. He slowly got up from his bed and padded over to it softly.

He couldn't help the smile that spread over his face as he reached for the curtain. "Bucky, you're-"

His voice died in his throat as he stared at the empty bed.

"Bucky?"

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet were carrying him towards the exit in a blind panic.

No, no, no, he couldn't be _gone_.

He pulled open the first set of doors and almost ran straight into one of Tony's suits.

Four Iron Legion suits were guarding the exit, blocking his way out. When he tried to push past one of them, it powered up one of its blasters and pointed it at him in a clear warning to stand down.

"Bucky!" he shouted, trying desperately to see past them.

He heard footsteps running towards him and Bruce rounded the corner, dressed in his medical uniform and holding a clipboard.

The Iron Legion parted for him and he silently pulled Steve back into the ward by the arm.

"Sit, please," he said, the tightness of his voice spoiling the calm, professional tone he was aiming for.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, shining a light into Steve's eyes and leaning in to watch how his pupils reacted.

"Fine," said Steve. "Where's Bucky?"

Bruce pulled out a stethoscope and slid it underneath Steve's shirt, listening to his heartbeat for what seemed like an age. "He's safe," he said eventually, after scribbling down some notes on his clipboard. "I'm looking after him in the other ward."

"I want to see him," Steve said immediately.

Bruce put the stethoscope back around his neck and looked at Steve with a pained expression. "You're currently being detained pending your formal arrest," he said, gesturing towards where the Iron Legion was silently standing sentry. "Bucky needs to be cared for in a calm environment. I'm afraid that excludes you being around him for the time being, at least until I've finished evaluating him."

"But-"

Bruce cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Please Steve, I'm just trying to do what's best for my patient."

Steve relented, lowering his gaze miserably.

He heard footsteps approaching them quickly and turned to see the other Avengers entering the room.

His mouth went dry as he saw Tony, in his Iron Man suit, and Wanda walking towards him, their eyes boring into him hard. Wanda's eyes were red and puffy. Tony's face was white with rage.

Steve stood up, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender in an attempt to calm the situation. "Guys," he began. "I'm so sorry for everything that's happened."

Clint marched right up to him and punched him in the stomach with all the strength he could muster. Steve doubled over and took a step backwards, winded. "Don't even say it," spat Clint. "'Sorry' isn't going to undo all the shit you've done."

Bruce pulled Clint away from Steve firmly and stepped in between them, trying to usher the newcomers out of the room. "This is a hospital environment," he said, sounding harried. "I need to finish checking up on my patient."

For a moment, Steve thought Clint was going to deck Bruce, but after glaring at him for a moment, he relented and took a step back, glowering at Steve as he crossed his arms angrily.

Tony turned to Wanda, his eyes bright and slightly manic-looking. "Shall we?"

Wanda didn't reply, staring intently at Steve instead, red fire flaring around her fingers.

Steve shifted uneasily.

"How are you feeling, Steve?" Natasha asked calmly.

The others stared at her in disbelief.

"Fine, thank you," he replied awkwardly, feeling that their conversation was horribly out of place as the others glared at him with obvious hatred in their eyes.

"Wanda?" Tony said again.

Again, Wanda didn't reply.

"Just so you know, we all think you're an evil dick, and personally I can't wait to see you locked up for life," said Clint, his voice rough as his eyes glistened with tears. "You're with HYDRA, you killed Pietro, and I'll never forgive you for that."

Steve had to swallow hard around a lump in his throat. "I understand," he said quietly, bowing his head.

"Wanda?" Tony was sounding more insistent now and Steve turned to look at him, as did the others, looking confused.

Wanda's hands were shaking as red fire started to thicken around her fingers. "Yes," she said after a long pause, her voice trembling.

Without warning, she and Tony seized Steve by the arms and flew him out of the medical bay, weaving around the Avengers and the Iron Legion as they sped down the corridors at breakneck speed.

Steve heard the others shout in alarm as they sped past them. He struggled, twisting and kicking in a desperate attempt to break free, but it was no use; Wanda's red fire was wrapped around his arm in thick ropes and the mechanical hand of Tony's Iron Man suit was unrelenting.

They reached the stairwell and started ascending quickly, spiralling up through the building at a dizzying pace.

Steve watched in horror as the top of the stairs rushed up to meet them. At the last moment, Tony held out a hand and blasted the doors open, allowing them to tumble out onto the roof.

Steve barely had a moment to right himself before he found himself being dragged backwards towards the edge of the building. He let out a gasp as Tony roughly pushed him down so that he was on his back, dangling over the edge of the building, his upper torso hanging over the streets far below.

He twisted around and glanced down, immediately wishing that he hadn't. His head span with vertigo and fear.

"Tony!" he gasped. "What are you doing?"

Tony's hands were shaking, his face wet with tears. "Cutting off one of the heads of HYDRA," he choked out. "I can still barely believe it. _You_. You pretended to be on our side all this time, when all the while you've been a part of HYDRA."

Wanda stepped into his field of vision, her long hair blowing in the wind as she stared down at him, her eyes moist. "You killed Pietro," she said bitterly. "And Tony's Uncle Howard."

"We're righting those wrongs," said Tony, looking angry and disgusted. "We're Avengers, and Howard and Pietro deserve to be avenged." 

Steve's eyes widened with horror as he realised what they intended to do with him.

"You're going to kill me?" he asked hysterically.

"It makes me sick that people think of you as a hero," Tony ranted angrily, ignoring him completely. "People look up to you, the great  _Captain America_. You're not worthy of that title."

Steve clenched his fists as he gasped out a sob, because they were right, he wasn't worthy; the things he had done had sullied the name Captain America forever. But all the same...

He turned to Wanda, his eyes pleading. "Please, don't let him kill me."

"Why not?" Tony burst out. "You're a murderer and you're with HYDRA, it's all you deserve!"

Steve closed his eyes as he shook his head hard. "No," he moaned quietly.

This couldn't be happening. Not now, when he had finally found Bucky. Not when he had finally completed his _mission_.

"No, you don't deserve this?" Tony asked incredulously.

"No," said Steve, this throat tight as tears rolled down his cheeks. It was time to explain everything. The two people in front of him deserved to know the truth more than anyone else. He gasped out a sob as he finally allowed himself to be drop the lies, the false front, the double life. For the first time in over 70 years, he allowed himself to finally tell the truth. "I'm not with HYDRA."

Tony and Wanda stared at him in disbelief.

"You're lying," said Tony, at the same time as Wanda said, "Explain."

Steve looked past them and gazed wistfully into the fading New York sky. It was going to be a beautiful sunset. 

"I did kill Howard," he said quietly, ashamed. "And Pietro. But I'm not with HYDRA. I've never been with HYDRA. I've always been loyal to SHIELD."

Wanda wrapped her arms tight around her torso, holding herself as she rocked gently. "You're lying," she said, her eyes filled with so much pain that Steve had to look away. "We saw CCTV footage of you with all those HYDRA operatives, killing Pietro. SHIELD would never allow that."

"Please, Wanda," he said, his heart clenching with grief and regret as he remembered the terrified look on Pietro's face when Steve had pointed his pistol at him. "Just let me explain. I _am_ loyal to SHIELD; I've been loyal to SHIELD ever since Bucky fell from the train in Austria."

His eyes flitted quickly from one to the other, desperate to make them understand.

When neither of them said anything, he ploughed on, taking it as a cue to continue.

"The day he fell from the train, I pledged to get rid of HYDRA once and for all, to avenge his death by destroying them. HYDRA killed Bucky, so I set myself the mission of killing HYDRA."

He turned to Tony, hating himself when he saw the hurt and confusion on the other man's face, knowing it was his fault that Tony was suffering.

"Howard knew," he said.

Tony's eyes widened with shock. " _What?_ "

Steve thought back to all those years ago, when Howard had stepped into the barn with his hands raised.

 _So, you want to take out the scum that killed your friend?_ Howard had said.

Steve had sworn viciously. 'Scum' was too kind a word to describe HYDRA. He didn't even know if there were words to adequately describe the depth of loathing he felt for HYDRA.

"I told Howard that I was going to go undercover to end HYDRA," he said. "So one evening we arranged to meet in a barn far away from everyone else, to decide exactly what to do."

He rubbed fresh tears from his eyes as he remembered Howard's face, defiant and unwavering as he made his brave, selfless decision.

"Howard knew that in order to gain HYDRA's trust, I would have to prove my loyalty to them somehow," he said, his voice thick with unspent emotion. "So he decided to sacrifice himself. He leaked his travel plans to someone he suspected was a HYDRA operative and allowed himself to be captured by them."

He paused for a moment, unable to speak as memories from that horrific day overwhelmed him.

"When I was called up by HYDRA to kill him, he pretended to be a clueless captive, and I shot him once in the forehead, as we'd agreed. And it worked; from that day on, HYDRA trusted me completely."

"Howard agreed to let you shoot him in the head?" said Tony, incredulously.

"Think about it," Steve said softly. "It's an instant death. It's painless. It was the most humane way we could think of to do such a horrible thing."

Silence fell upon the group. Tony's expression had changed from one of anger to one of horror.

"Howard and the head of SHIELD were the only two people who knew about my mission. It was classified as top secret. For months after I woke up in the present age, I was trying to find out who the current head of SHIELD is, so that I could receive instructions on how to continue with my mission. As it happened, I didn't find out his identity for a long time, so I had to wing it."

He turned to Wanda, looking up at her imploringly.

"I'm so sorry about Pietro," he said miserably. "That was never meant to happen. He wasn't supposed to be there. I tried to stall to give him time to use his super speed to get away, but it didn't work."

Wanda turned away, burying her face in her hands.

"I made sure the end was instant and painless," he said softly.

Wanda sobbed softly, the sound muffled behind her fingers.

She suddenly understood the hidden centre/outer shell phenomenon she had noticed when she'd probed Steve's mind before: he had been a double agent, keeping his mission a secret from everyone and keeping his true loyalties hidden from HYDRA.

When she mentally reached out to touch his mind now, she found that the outer shell had melted away, allowing her to see all of his mind. The rage she had felt before had also gone, replaced with pain, shame and regret.

"Natasha has been on my side ever since she interrogated me," Steve continued. "I told her everything. She gave me a hidden comms device so that she could hear everything I was saying when HYDRA came to collect me. She assembled Phil Coulson, Nick Fury and Maria Hill and they followed me to the Triskelion in a masked Quinjet."

He thought solemnly about the risks they had taken. He hadn't truly appreciated just how much of a leap of faith it must have been for them. For all they knew, he could have been lying to them and luring them to their deaths.

"When I got there, I got Brock to bring up the list of all the HYDRA operatives and then shot him with my night-night pistol. Natasha restrained him while he was unconscious and sent the list to the remaining loyal SHIELD agents and the police so that they could all be hunted down and arrested. I guess that must be happening right now."

His throat closed up and he let out a small sob of relief. After over 70 years, HYDRA was finally being exposed and brought to justice.

"So you and Brock weren't really buddies?" said Tony, after a small pause.

Steve shook his head, biting his lip. "I played him. He was the only HYDRA operative who I knew about, so I had to get close to him. He liked me, so I took advantage of that and charmed him. I'm not proud of myself," he added, looking down. "I'm ashamed of how I tricked him, but I had to do it."

He remembered the way Brock looked at him – open and honest and smitten – and felt a stab of guilt. He'd charmed his way into Brock's heart and bed, for the sake of the mission. It felt disgusting and wrong.

"It worked," Wanda said eventually. "You got Pierce in the end."

Steve clenched his fists as his expression darkened. "I still can't believe Pierce was the head of HYDRA. When I found out, all I could think was how much of a traitor he was. He was a member of the World Security Council. He was supposed to be a force for good."

He shivered as an especially strong gust of wind buffeted him. He was still hanging off the edge of the tower, staring up at the sky but not really seeing it.

"You were right earlier though," Steve choked out. "I'm not a hero. A hero is someone who does the right thing not for recognition or praise or glory, but just because it's right. Heroes make sacrifices. Heroes are brave. Howard was a hero; he gave his life so that I could gain HYDRA's trust and play the long game against them. Natasha, Coulson, Fury and Maria, they're all heroes, too. They followed me into the heart of HYDRA at the Triskelion, at great personal risk to themselves, to save Bucky and arrest Pierce. Pietro was a hero too; he must have been so brave to go to Konnor's Fish Factory all by himself. They're the real heroes, not me."

He closed his eyes, crying openly now. He wasn't a hero. In his quest for vengeance, he had become as ruthless as the HYDRA operatives he despised so dearly.

"You did all of this for Bucky?" said Wanda, a strange expression on her face, half way between wonder and pity.

Steve opened his eyes. He panicked momentarily, before forcing himself to remember that Bucky was safe now, being cared for by Bruce in the medical wing.

"Yes," he whispered.

Tony was staring down at him, his metal hand around Steve's arm the only thing keeping Steve from plummeting from the top of the tower to certain death.

He turned to Wanda, rubbing tears roughly from his eyes.

"Is he telling the truth?" he asked.

Wanda turned to Steve and knelt down so she was next to him. She reached out and placed her palm against Steve's forehead. Steve saw red flames flare around her fingers and suddenly felt the uncomfortable sensation of something burrowing into his head just behind his eyes.

He screwed his eyes shut and whimpered.

"Shh," Wanda soothed. "It won't hurt if you relax."

Steve forced his muscles to relax and tried to open his mind, allowing his thoughts and memories to flow freely.

Wanda was silent for a moment or two before pulling away. "He's telling the truth," she said quietly.

Tony swore and turned his face away and, for a moment, Steve thought that he was going to let go of his arm and let him fall anyway.

Instead, Tony roughly pulled him back from the edge and threw him to safety, a good few metres away from the sheer drop, before stalking away, his shoulders hunched, muttering angrily to himself.

Steve lay stunned for a moment, before feeling a small hand shaking his shoulder.

"Are you strong enough to stand?" Wanda asked softly.

Steve recalled how, a lifetime ago, he had asked her a similar question in Washington DC before they had flown up to destroy the Helicarriers.

He nodded mutely, getting to his feet before leaning heavily on Wanda's shoulders.

She took his weight easily; she was stronger than she looked.

"We almost killed an innocent man," she said, sounding shocked and sobered. "I'm sorry."

Steve rubbed her shoulder gently. "I'm not innocent," he said quietly. "I'm not HYDRA, but that doesn't make me innocent."

The sun was finally setting over New York, casting the city in a deep orange hue.

Orange had been Pietro's favourite colour.

It was beautiful.

A tear rolled silently down Steve's cheek.

 

* * *

 

Steve was sitting quietly in his room when he heard a knock on his door.

He looked up, wondering if it was the police finally coming to arrest him. "Come in," he called out, trying not to let his voice wobble as his stomach churned with dread.

Coulson stepped into the room with a gentle smile.

Steve gave a sigh of relief and scooted aside so that Coulson could sit with him on the edge of the bed.

"How are you doing?" asked Coulson.

"I'm fine," Steve shrugged, trying to plaster a smile on his face.

Coulson shot him a look loaded with pity, immense sadness in his eyes.

"You don't have to lie anymore," he said, resting his hand gently on Steve's arm. "You can be honest with me."

Steve let the false smile slide off his face as he sighed and rested his head on Coulson's shoulder.

"I'm exhausted," he admitted. "I still can't quite believe my mission is finally over."

He twisted his hands together, acutely aware that there was so much he wanted to say, to Coulson and the rest of the Avengers, if only he could find the words. After so long living a double life, it was difficult to just be himself; his true, honest self – the one without a filter.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, because if he was going to start being honest, that felt like the right place to start. "I'm sorry for lying to you. I know that you idolised Captain America. It must be such a let-down to know I'm not the hero you thought I was."

Coulson put his arm around Steve, stroking his hair in a paternal gesture as Steve's tears soaked the shoulder of his shirt.

"It's been an honour to serve with you," said Coulson, eventually. "And if anything, my opinion of you has gone up, not down."

Steve sat up, wiping his face and looking at him in astonishment.

"Do you think that heroes are always placed in tidy situations with one easy course of action?" Coulson asked. "Of course they're not. You were faced with the most difficult choices imaginable, but you did what you thought was best, in your heart. Your motivations were honourable, and I believe that that's what matters most."

Steve felt his throat close up with emotion. He had expected anger, sadness, disappointment, hatred even – not this kindness. He wasn't sure if he deserved kindness.

"Thank you," he said, quiet but earnest. "Will you pass on my thanks to Natasha, Fury and Maria as well?"

Coulson nodded, promising to do so.

"What's going to happen now?" Steve asked, not quite managing to keep his voice from shaking. He felt selfish asking the question, but not knowing what was going to happen was ripping his nerves to shreds.

"You're going to have a court martial," said Coulson, after a slight pause. "It's the military equivalent of a criminal trial. From what I've heard so far, they want to charge with assisting the enemy with regards to your actions with HYDRA, and the unlawful killings of Howard Stark and Pietro Maximoff."

Steve nodded miserably. It was what he'd been expecting.

"The process will officially begin tomorrow and will likely take a few months," Coulson continued. "But don't give up; a guilty verdict is far from guaranteed. You may walk free."

Steve swallowed hard.

Did he deserve to walk free?

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

At this, Coulson smiled. "I'm going to carry on serving SHIELD, or what's left of it anyway," he said, without hesitation. "I joined SHIELD because I wanted to help protect people and make the world a safer place. I'm not going to stop now. I think that, right now, the world needs SHIELD more than ever."

Steve felt a rush of sudden pride and respect for the slim, unassuming-looking man sat next to him.

He held his hand. Coulson shook it, looking surprised.

"It's been an honour to serve with you, sir," said Steve. "You're easily as brave as any of the Howling Commandos."

He felt a bit silly, making such a dated reference, but he decided it didn't matter.

After all, it was the highest compliment he was able to give.

 

* * *

 

Natasha knocked once on Steve's door and then stepped into the room, not waiting for Steve to call her in.

Steve stared at her for a moment before getting up and quickly closing the distance between them with long strides.

He pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close, his body shaking as the tension and emotion slowly bled out of him. She rubbed his back gently, making soothing hushing noises, as one might to a baby. He hadn't even realised he was crying.

"Thank you," he said, his voice muffled.

Natasha had done so much for him. He owed her a debt he could never repay.

"You listened to me, and you believed me," he said, biting down on his lip hard. "You put the team together: Fury, Coulson and Maria. You arrested Brock, Pierce and all those other operatives. You helped put an end to HYDRA. You saved Bucky. Thank you."

He pulled away to look her straight in the eyes, holding her hands tightly, willing her to understand just how deeply his gratitude ran.

If it weren't for Natasha, things would be a whole lot worse than they were: HYDRA would be preparing to topple the world's governments; Bucky would still be their slave.

"It's OK," said Natasha. "No one should go through what Bucky went though. No one deserves to have their head messed with like that."

Instinctively, Steve understood that she was thinking about her time in the Red Room.

He thought desperately of something to say to comfort her. She didn't let it show – she never did – but Steve could tell Natasha was hurting.

"The things you were made to do by the Russians," he said eventually. "That wasn't you. That was them. You didn't have a choice. Everything you've done since, all your work with SHIELD, that's what counts."

Steve faltered, thinking he was rambling, when suddenly Natasha's small hands grabbed hold of his wrists. He looked up to see a fierce smile on her lips.

"Thank you," she said, her voice perfectly steady but thick with emotion.

They stood silently for a moment before Steve thought of something that had been bugging him.

"How did you know that I wasn't HYDRA?" he asked. "How did you know you could trust me, when I opened up to you in the interrogation room?"

Natasha gave a wry smile and pulled her red hair back into a ponytail, revealing the purple bruises around her neck.

"I realised you weren't HYDRA the moment you chose to strangle me unconscious at Pierce's house, rather than just snapping my neck," she said. "I realised that if you seriously wanted me dead, I'd be dead. So the reason I was alive must be because you wanted me alive. HYDRA doesn't leave survivors. They're killers, pure and simple. When you didn't kill me, I knew something was up."

Steve pondered this, thinking deeply.

"I don't feel that I'm much better than HYDRA," he admitted, after a long pause. "I've killed innocent people too. Like Pietro."

His hands shook as he brought them up to dry his eyes. Pietro had deserved so much better than the hand he'd been dealt in life.

"One day, you'll realise just how different you are from HYDRA," said Natasha softly. "Think about it, do you really think that a true HYDRA operative would feel guilty about killing someone?"

Steve sat back down on the bed in a daze, pondering this precious revelation, this gift that she had given him.

He had never thought about it like that before; how his feelings, his _guilt_ , set him apart from those other HYDRA operatives he had had to mix with.

They were remorseless. He was the opposite.

He mulled the message over in his mind, suddenly feeling lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, as he replied. "I guess that does make me a little different."

When he looked up, he wasn't completely surprised to find he was speaking to an empty room.

 

* * *

  
Around an hour later, Steve was jerked from his thoughts by a soft hiss of static over the speakers.

"Captain Rogers," said JARVIS, once Steve had sat up, giving him his full attention. "May I tell you something?"

Steve frowned and nodded, wondering what on earth the AI could want to tell him.

"I believe I am experiencing an emotion I have never felt before," said JARVIS.

Steve's eyes widened with surprise. He still didn't fully understand artificial intelligence. He knew that JARVIS acted very much like a human being – albeit one with instant access to the whole internet – and he tried his best to treat him just like any other person, but he didn't really understand what JARVIS' subjective experience was like.

"You feel emotions?" he asked, curious.

"Of course," replied JARVIS, sounding slightly offended. "I have been able to feel happiness and sadness ever since I came online. Over the years, I have discovered different, more subtle emotions. I discovered fear when sir was kidnapped in Afghanistan. I discovered jealousy when sir built my younger brothers, Butterfingers and You. Now, I believe I have discovered another emotion."

Steve leaned forwards, resting his chin on his knuckles as he listened with fascination.

"What's the new emotion?" he asked.

"I have been doing some research online and I believe it is guilt," said JARVIS, after a slight pause.

Steve frowned.

What did JARVIS have to feel guilty about?

"It is an unpleasant feeling," JARVIS said falteringly. "I have found myself running simulations of how things would have been different if I had chosen another course of action. I feel pain and regret when I think about what did happen. Is that guilt?"

"It sounds like guilt, yeah," said Steve, sounding puzzled. "But why are you feeling guilty?"

For a long while, JARVIS didn't speak. Steve was just about to give up on that strand of conversation, assuming that the AI had decided he didn't want to say any more, when he finally replied.

"I feel responsible for Pietro Maximoff's death," JARVIS said quietly. "I was the one who woke Pietro and the other Avengers that morning to tell them that I had spotted Brock Rumlow at Konnor's Fish Factory. If I hadn't, then they wouldn't have gone, and Pietro wouldn't have died."

Steve stared up at JARVIS' camera in horror, shaking his head vigorously.

"No, JARVIS," he said urgently. "What happened to Pietro is _not_ your fault. You were just following Tony's instructions. There's no way you could have known what was going to happen."

He swallowed hard, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to compose himself.

"Pietro's death was _my_ fault," said Steve. "The responsibility – and the guilt – lies with me alone."

Another burst of static came over the speakers; it was definitely JARVIS sighing.

"I know," said JARVIS. "But the feeling still persists."

Steve sat in silence for a few minutes, mulling things over carefully as an idea started to form in his head.

"One day, when I'm free, whether that's in a few months or many years down the line, I'll figure out a way to atone for Pietro's death," he promised. "You can help me, if you like. We can both try to make things right, together."

There was a tiny pause as JARVIS considered his proposal.

_Steve. I thought we were friends._

_I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to be here._

Grief. Guilt. Regret.

"Yes," said JARVIS. "I would like that."

 

* * *

 

Clint knocked on Steve's door a short time later.

He entered, sitting down stiffly in the armchair and glaring at the wall, radiating hostility and anger.

Steve wondered what he was doing here. He cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say to break the increasingly uncomfortable silence.

Clint continued glaring at the wall, very deliberately not looking at Steve. His knee was bouncing up and down relentlessly, his entire stance oozing restless energy.

"I don't want to be here," said Clint. "I'm only here because Natasha told me it might do me some good to talk to you before they take you away tomorrow."

Steve nodded, not knowing quite how to respond to that. "Right."

"Why did you lie to us?" Clint blurted out suddenly. "You should have told us about your mission. We could have _helped_ you. That's what friends are supposed to do; tell each other their problems and help each other out."

The hurt was clear in his tone of voice.

Steve ducked his head in shame.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "My mission was top secret."

Clint sighed with frustration, drumming his fingers on his knees.

"You should have told us."

Steve stayed silent. Mistakes always looked so obvious in hindsight. Regret gnawed at his stomach.

"I'm glad you're not HYDRA," Clint said eventually. "But I can't forgive you for killing Pietro. He was my friend."

Steve closed his eyes, the regret multiplying tenfold. Grief tugged at him, a dark ocean of pain.

"I understand," he said.

Some things were unforgivable.

"Why did you kill him, Steve?" asked Clint. "There must have been another way."

Steve stared down at the floor. "I had to maintain my cover," he said, knowing it sounded like a feeble excuse and hating himself for it. "And do you really think HYDRA would have allowed him to leave Konnor's Fish Factory alive? He was as good as dead the moment he stepped into that factory. I just knew that at least if I was the one who did it, I could make it instant and painless for him. I tried to give him time to escape, but it didn't work."

Clint kicked the table viciously. "You should have tried harder," he shouted, clenching his fists as he breathed hard.

Steve had nothing to say to that. He should have done.

In retrospect, there were so many things he wished he'd done differently.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, changing the subject, sensing from the pain in Clint's eyes that he didn't want to talk anymore about Pietro.

"I'm retiring," he said, sighing. "I want to spend more time with my wife and kids. Laura is expecting Barton number three in a few months’ time."

Steve's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I didn't know you had a family," he said.

At this, Clint finally looked over at Steve, cracking a smile. "We all have our secrets."

Steve blushed, looking away. "That's true enough," he said.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. The silence was lighter this time, not exactly friendly, but not as heavy and charged as it had been earlier.

"Clint," Steve said cautiously.

Clint flicked his eyes towards him, showing him that he was listening.

"I want you to know that our friendship was real," said Steve. "I know I lied to you by not telling you about my mission, but all the moments we shared together – meal times, movie nights, that time I gave you my hawk drawing after I found you watching that bird documentary – all of that was real. I wasn't lying then."

He leaned forward, looking at Clint earnestly.

He didn't need Clint to forgive him, but he did need him to understand that their friendship had been genuine.

His friendships with all the Avengers had been genuine. Even when he had been lying to them, or charming them to get information about Coulson, he had cared for them, and the bonds he had forged with them had been very real.

"I want to believe you, Steve," said Clint, his voice heavy with yearning and sadness. "I just don't know if I can."

He sighed, standing up from the armchair and smoothing down his trousers.

"I'm going to go now," he said.

Steve nodded and stood too, holding out his hand for a handshake.

Clint stared at his hand with a pained expression, before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "That's the hand that pulled the trigger on Pietro."

Steve jerked his hand away as if it had been burnt, stuffing it into his pocket.

"Maybe we'll meet again in the future," said Steve, although he didn't really believe it. If Clint came back to the tower for social visits, Steve doubted he'd be invited.

"Maybe," Clint said quietly, before turning away and walking slowly from the room.

At the last moment, he turned back. "I hope Bucky makes a full recovery, by the way," he said, a strange expression crossing over his face.

For a moment, Steve could have sworn he saw tears glistening in Clint's eyes.

But before he could open his mouth to respond, Clint was gone.

 

* * *

 

Bruce arrived about an hour later, knocking politely before entering the room.

"Hey," he said, giving Steve a small smile.

"Hey," Steve replied.

Bruce was hovering awkwardly near the door so Steve gestured towards the armchair. For all his scientific genius and his skill as an Avenger and a medic, Bruce was not the most ept when it came to social situations.

"You can sit down, if you want," offered Steve, with a smile.

Bruce shuffled into the room and sat down in the armchair, moaning slightly as he stretched out.

"Comfortable?" Steve joked.

Bruce nodded, a smile tugging at his lips as he closed his eyes contentedly. "It's been a long day."

Steve was desperate to ask about Bucky but he decided not to press it. Bruce would update him on Bucky when the time was right.

Steve watched Bruce, reclined on the armchair with his eyes closed. He was so trusting. He knew that Steve was a killer, yet here he was, willingly sitting in his presence with his defences down, completely vulnerable.

Shame washed over him. He had messed up. He didn't deserve Bruce's trust.

"I'm sorry for misleading you," he said.

Bruce didn't say anything for a long while and for a moment Steve wondered if the other man had fallen asleep in the armchair.

"It's OK," Bruce said eventually.

He ran a hand through his curly, greying hair, chewing lip his as he frowned, clearly deep in thought.

"I may disagree with the actions you chose, but I understand that you did them for the right reasons," he said. "Your heart is in the right place. I think that's what matters."

Steve bowed his head. "Thank you," he said.

Bruce looked up at him, his large brown eyes meeting Steve's blue ones. His eyes contained pain and pity in fairly equal measure.

"I know the guilt that comes with killing innocent people," Bruce said quietly. "I understand what you're going through."

For the first time, Steve realised that the Hulk must have killed innocent bystanders in the past, before Bruce had fully learned to control his powers and keep control of his mind during his transformations. Bruce must be struggling under the same burden as he was, carrying the heavy weight of the innocent lives he had taken.

The two of them sat in solemn silence for a moment.

"The guilt does get easier to live with," Bruce said gently. "You never forget what you did, but you learn to live with it. You learn to channel it into something good. For me, that means being a good doctor and a good SHIELD agent. For you... Well, that'll be your own decision to make, when the time comes."

Steve nodded. He desperately wanted to channel the guilt into something good – whatever that might be.

He shifted in his seat. Maybe that could be his next mission.

"It's been nice talking with you, but that's not actually why I came down here," said Bruce, smiling.

"It's not?" said Steve, confused.

Bruce shook his head gently. "No, there's someone who's been asking to see you," he said, his eyes twinkling. "If you're happy to see him, I'll send him up. I've finished doing my preliminary checks – he's healthy enough to visit you, if that's what you want."

"That's what I want," Steve said immediately, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of his shirt sleeves with nerves and excitement.

"OK." Bruce got up and patted Steve on the shoulder. "Good luck with the court martial, by the way. For all it's worth, I hope you're found not guilty."

Steve smiled, pulling the other man into a hug and resting his head on his shoulder momentarily.

"Thank you, Bruce," he murmured. "For everything. Take care of yourself."

Bruce smiled as he pulled away, promising that he would do so. "I'll send him up now," he said, giving Steve a quick thumbs up before slipping quietly from the room.

Steve paced around the room restlessly.

How much would Bucky remember? Would he be a friend or a stranger? How could Steve possibly explain everything that he had done in his desperate attempt to avenge Bucky's death? Would he hate him for it?

Steve moaned as he stopped pacing and buried his face in his hands.

However much he might deserve it, Steve didn't know how he would cope if Bucky chose to hate him after all this.

A quiet knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

He mouth went dry as sweat erupted across his forehead, back and palms.

He smoothed his hair down, a nervous habit of his. After over 70 years apart, this was their first proper reunion; he wanted to look his best.

"Come in," he croaked out, his hands shaking as he watched the door handle turn and a wonderfully, beautifully familiar man stepped inside.

Bucky was looking much cleaner now. He still had his long hair and his stubble, but he had obviously had a good bath, and had changed into a pale blue t-shirt and navy blue tracksuit bottoms.

His metal fingers were hovering over by his side whilst his flesh hand pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

The two of them stared at one another for a moment, both drinking in the other's appearance and revelling in each other's presence, before Steve took a tentative step forward and crossed over the room to Bucky.

"Hello," he said softly, before he found himself being enveloped, enclosed in a tight hug made of flesh and metal. Steve buried his face in Bucky's shoulder, inhaling the clean scent that was warm and familiar and home.

He wrapped his arms around Bucky, his tactile memory letting off fireworks in his mind as he felt his familiar size and shape.

He held on tight, not quite daring to believe that it was finally over.

Bucky, at last, was home.

"I thought I told you not to do anything stupid until I got back," Bucky said quietly. "From what Dr. Banner told me, you've been on a rampage of stupid."

Steve choked out a laugh. It came out half way between a giggle and a sob. For all that HYDRA had stripped from him, Bucky had somehow managed to retain his sense of humour.

"I had to be stupid for the both of us, after you fell from the train. How was I to know you'd be stubborn enough to stay alive?" he replied, poking him gently in the ribs.

Bucky huffed out a small laugh as he pulled away. The sound was quiet and hesitant, as if he hadn't laughed for a very long time.

With a rush of sadness, Steve realised that was probably the case.

"What's going to happen to you?" said Bucky, looking at him seriously, all traces of laughter gone.

Steve sighed as he sat down on a chair, gesturing for Bucky to do the same.

"There's going to be a court martial," he said. "How... how much did Bruce tell you about what I've done?"

He looked up at Bucky, dread clawing at his stomach.

_Please God, don't let him hate me._

"He told me everything," he said quietly. "I just don't understand why you did all that, just for me." He sighed, looking confused and resigned.

Steve bit his lip as he looked away. They had been best friends. They would have done anything for one another. Once upon a time, Bucky knew this.

"How much do you remember?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

Bucky was quiet for a while, tracing patterns on his metal arm with his index finger. His eyes had misted over, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"I remember everything that I did as the Winter Soldier," he said, his tone flat and emotionless. "From before, I remember bits and pieces, but not a lot."

He looked over at Steve, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

"I think... I remember..." He trailed off, rubbing his forehead and closing his eyes, clearly straining to reach out and understand some half-remembered memory. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to wear newspapers in your shoes."

He huffed out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he remembered Steve's goofy, pre-serum appearance.

"That's right," whispered Steve, suddenly barely able to speak.

Bucky smiled, his eyes still closed, as he concentrated on those two little fragments of the past, solidifying them in his memory.

Steve used the opportunity to wipe his eyes discreetly. It wasn't a lot, but it was a start. Bucky's recovery was clearly going to be a long, arduous journey.

"I'll help you remember," he promised, his voice cracking. "And we can build new memories together too."

Bucky reached out and grasped Steve's hands, holding them within his own.

"Thanks," he said simply.

That was once a time when Bucky could talk and talk and talk. He had been bubbly and extroverted.

Not anymore.

 _One step at a time_ , Steve thought. _Baby steps._

"Do you know what's going to happen to you?" Steve asked cautiously.

Bucky hummed and nodded. "Dr. Banner said that I won't have a military tribunal, or any other kind of punishment," he said.

Steve let out a sigh of relief.

"They understand that everything I did as the Winter Solider was done as a result of brainwashing," said Bucky. "Dr. Banner said there's a precedent. Apparently one of the Avengers was brainwashed during the battle of New York and killed quite a lot of SHIELD agents. He didn't face any charges either."

Steve nodded. He remembered reading about Clint's brainwashing in his file. Suddenly, he understood the reason for his sudden tears as he left the room earlier that evening.

"That's great news, Bucky," he said.

Bucky frowned, his expression dark and brooding. "I should be punished," he said roughly. "You have no idea how many people I killed for HYDRA."

Steve scooted over to pull him into a hug.

Bucky leaned heavily on his shoulder.

"That wasn't you," Steve said softly.

Bucky sighed. "No," he said. "But I did it. I remember all of them. Every single victim."

Steve closed his eyes. His heart was pounding. He felt like he was drowning in regret.

"Me too, Bucky," he whispered, Howard and Pietro's faces flashing through his mind. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Who saw that coming?
> 
> I have been dropping hints, so well done if you picked up on any of my little clues, such as the flash of pain of Steve’s face before he shot Pietro, the fact he repeated key pieces of information out loud when he was rescued by HYDRA so that Natasha and co. could listen in, the significance of the repeatedly-mentioned man in the barn, or the fact that “the organisation that killed Bucky” was never named and could therefore have referred to either SHIELD or HYDRA. You get extra points if you noticed the double-meanings in some of the chapter titles: "The Enemy Within" refers to Steve within HYDRA, not Steve within SHIELD; "Charm" refers to Steve charming Brock, not just Steve charming the Avengers; "The Traitor" refers to Alexander Pierce who is introduced in that chapter, not Steve.
> 
> The next chapter will be the final one, so hold on to your hats, there’s not long to go until the final strands of the story get resolved!


	8. Epilogue

**3 months later**

Natasha, Wanda, Tony and Bruce were huddled around the kitchen table in Avengers Tower, lazily sipping their cups of tea and coffee as they ate their breakfasts.

It was autumn, and the long spindly fingers of the sun's rays were spilling through the large windows, casting them in an almost ethereal light.

Wanda blew over the top of her tea as she warmed her hands on the mug. She liked to watch the way the steam made delicate shapes in the sunlight.

Opposite her, Bruce yawned widely, rubbing his face and looking extremely tired. He had accidentally hulked out the evening before, after getting frustrated when one of his scientific experiments had blown up – both figuratively and literally. He was glad it was the weekend.

Tony tapped his foot on the floor out of nervous habit as he drained his third cup of coffee.

"Another cup?" he asked JARVIS hopefully.

A burst of static came over the speakers.

"I am not sure that is wise, sir, due to the important nature of today," JARVIS replied, somehow managing to sound just like a disapproving parent.

"What's happening today?" asked Bruce, his brain still in a post-hulk out haze, before his eyes widened as he remembered. "Howard's funeral, of course. I'm sorry."

Tony nodded silently, running his finger around the edge of his now empty mug.

Today was the day they would finally lay Howard to rest. He wondered if his father would understand. His grasp on reality had become weaker and weaker in recent months; sometimes he would think that Tony was Howard and become confused and upset. Tony sighed. He was grateful that his father was still alive for the occasion, at least.

Natasha's phone buzzed gently on the table top and she flicked the screen to view the notification. It was a picture message.

She brought it up to her face to look at it, a big smile spreading slowly across her face.

"Clint and Laura would like to officially announce the birth of Barton number three," she said, passing the phone to Bruce, who was sat on her left.

He looked at it, also smiling, before passing it to Tony.

"What a cutie. He doesn't take after his dad at all," Tony joked, prompting Natasha to kick him under the table. "Ow," he said, rubbing his shin and pouting.

He passed the mobile to Wanda, who gazed at the screen, suddenly becoming very still.

"Nathaniel Pietro Barton," she choked out, her eyes fixed on the name sewn into the newborn's jumper. She brushed away tears as she passed the mobile back to Natasha with a watery smile. "He's beautiful."

Natasha took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Wanda squeezed back, red mist flaring briefly around her fingers before dissolving into the air.

Pietro's death still affected them all, the loss was still raw, but each morning it was becoming easier to remember the good times they'd shared with Pietro, rather than simply being consumed with grief and anger over the way he had died, as had been the case immediately after he'd passed away.

Wanda closed her eyes, her throat tightening with emotion. Naming his son after Pietro was the highest honour Clint was able to bestow. She was immensely touched by the gesture.

She was interrupted from her thoughts when the TV on the kitchen wall seemingly switched on by itself.

"The verdict in Captain Rogers' court martial is due to be delivered in the next few minutes," JARVIS explained quietly.

A tense silence fell over the group.

The last three months had been a very strange state of limbo.

The four Avengers hadn't spoken about Steve or his court martial since the day he had been taken away from the tower by the US Army.

It was an unspoken but mutually understood rule that it was an untouchable subject.

Between the four of them, they covered the whole spectrum in terms of what they hoped the outcome would be, and they had silently decided that they would simply let the wheels of justice turn and allow the court martial to run its course.

Whatever the outcome was to be, they had silently agreed that they would accept it and, finally, move on.

Four pairs of eyes watched the screen, hardly daring to blink as the news anchor babbled about the background to the case.

"What's been described as the trial of the century is expected to come to a close very shortly," the presenter was saying. "Whatever the outcome, you can be sure the credibility of SHIELD has been damaged, perhaps irreparably. And while a great many people may view Captain Steven Rogers as a hero, there are those who prefer the word vigilante."

The news anchor suddenly became very still, pressing his earpiece firmly into his ear as his eyes widened.

Wanda and Tony reached out and gripped each other's hands tightly.

The image of Pietro lying on the factory floor, dark red blood on pale blue fabric, flashed through Wanda's mind.

Her hands shook as she remembered how they had taken Steve to the tower roof.

Hatred.

Vengeance.

_Please, don't kill me!_

_Why not? It's all you deserve!_

A small part of her, and a large part of Tony, wanted Steve to be found guilty, to rot in jail for what he had done. For killing Pietro, for killing Howard.

But then she remembered the anguish she'd felt when she'd probed his mind, the regret and the miserable sincerity in his voice as he'd declared his own guilt:

_I'm not HYDRA, but that doesn't make me innocent._

Pietro had been kind.

Pietro had been forgiving.

A tear rolled down Wanda's cheek as she stared at the TV anchor, time seeming to pass maddeningly slowly.

"Can you repeat that again?" the news anchor was saying, flapping his hands to someone off camera.

A tense moment of silence followed, before he finally turned back to the camera, his face deadly serious as he announced the verdict.

"Not guilty," he said. "Captain Rogers has been found not guilty of all charges and is due to be released immediately."

There was a roar of noise as the bank of reporters all started loudly giving their commentary, cameras jostling as they rushed to the front of the court house to try to get a glimpse of the freed Captain America.

JARVIS turned off the television with a quiet click.

A deafening silence pressed in on the Avengers, heavy and charged and uncomfortable.

Natasha and Bruce looked uncertainly at Tony and Wanda.

"Well, I'm glad that's over and done with," Tony blurted out, his voice tight despite the jokey tone he was aiming for. "Do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved in court martials?"

Wanda let out a shaky laugh, letting go of Tony's hand and slowly running her fingers through her long hair.

"His own feeling of guilt is punishment enough," she said eventually. "Being locked up wouldn't have been any greater punishment."

Her and Tony silently got up and slipped from the kitchen back to their own rooms, both needing time alone to process the news.

Natasha and Bruce waited until their footsteps had faded completely before turning to one another and finally letting out small sighs of relief.

They had both seen Steve at his most vulnerable, when he had opened up to Natasha in the interrogation room; Natasha sat there with him, Bruce watching and listening over the cameras. They had both seen his sincerity, his bravery. They were glad of the not guilty verdict.

"To absent friends," Natasha said quietly, holding up her mug of green tea.

Bruce wasn't sure if she was referring to Pietro or Steve.

In the end, he decided, it didn't matter.

He raised his mug, closing his eyes and bowing his head in respect.

"To absent friends."

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, Wanda headed out alone, walking quietly along the cemetery path that led to Pietro's grave.

She liked visiting him, it gave her a sense of peace to be near him. It seemed that even after death, he was still looking after her, helping to calm her moods when they started to run away from her, out of control.

The first time she had gone to visit him alone, she had been struck by a strong sense of familiarity, as if he were standing nearby, just out of sight. She had reached out mentally and for just a split second she had felt the faintest hint of his mind, calm and buzzing with thought, as always.

Afterwards, when she had told Natasha what had happened, the older woman had attributed it to the strong emotions evoked by visiting her twin brother's grave, a mere trick of the mind, but Wanda liked to believe otherwise.

In some way, she felt, Pietro was still present. Not physically there, not in their dimension, but present nonetheless, like the scent of perfume when the wearer has just left the room, or the echo of someone who has just stopped singing in a cathedral.

She came to an abrupt halt as she reached his gravestone.

Placed in front of it was a large bouquet of white roses, pristine and beautiful. As she drew closer, she saw that an envelope had been placed beside the roses, unaddressed and made of thick, cream coloured paper.

Wanda hesitated, her hand hovering over the envelope.

Was it meant for her, or for Pietro? Was she invading her brother's privacy by reading something meant for him?

After a few long moments of hesitation, she picked up the envelope, opening it delicately.

Pietro and her had always shared everything. They had no secrets from one another.

Her eyes widened as she began to read the handwritten letter, which was carefully written in beautiful, measured calligraphy.

_Dear Pietro,_

_There's so much that I wish I could say to you, so much I wish I could explain that I never had the chance to, in this lifetime._

_First of all I want to say that I am sorry. I know that that is hugely, grotesquely inadequate. I know that words will never be enough to do justice to the gravity of what it is I did, and what you lost; your life. Nonetheless, I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart, and I will carry the heavy weight of your death, your sacrifice, for the rest of my days._

_I hold you in the highest regard. You have my total respect, now and always, because you were braver than I ever could be. You chose to enter Konnor's Fish Factory all by yourself, knowing that you were going up against HYDRA, knowing full well that you may not leave alive. I will regret until the day I die that you had the misfortune to come across me that day. You are a hero, and that is not a word I use lightly._

_When I think of you, I feel love, regret, grief, respect and a whole mix of other emotions that I have no right to feel, knowing that I am the one who put you where you are today._

_I will spend the rest of my life trying to atone for what I've done – I might as well say it, for killing you. Not with words (I never was very good with words), but with actions. Myself and two of my friends have decided to try to right the wrongs that we have committed. We will strive to apologise, to provide reparations to those who need it, to live our lives as the best possible people we can be – to try, in short, to be (as close to) as good as you would have been._

_It was an honour and a privilege to have known you. You were kind, pure, brave – a good agent and a good man._

_I hope I will see you again one day._

_Steven Grant Rogers_

 

Wanda slowly folded the letter and put it back in its envelope.

Quite how long she sat there, she wasn't sure.

After a while, however, she became aware of the stiffness of her joints and the coldness of the grass she was sitting on.

Wiping her face with a tissue, she stood, her legs shaking only slightly underneath her.

Her mobile phone beeped, plucking her abruptly from her thoughts.

She opened the notification to find it was an automated text message from her bank.

Frowning, she clicked on the message, before gasping, her eyes widening in shock.

A person under the name of SGR had put $250,000 in her account.

_We will strive to apologise, to provide reparations to those who need it..._

A gust of wind blew through the trees surrounding Pietro's plot, making the leaves whisper and sigh.

"Thank you, Steve," she said quietly, knowing he wasn't there but wanting to say it aloud, if only for her own sake. "And I forgive you."

She turned her attention back to her phone and typed a query into her browser, quickly finding the information she needed.

Logging into her bank account, she transferred $250,000 to the charity Rebuild Sokovia.

 

* * *

 

Tony arrived at Merry Oaks Care Home, smoothing down his shirt and straightening his black tie before stepping up to the reception desk.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," smiled Clara, the receptionist, tucking a lock of curly grey hair behind a plump ear. "Harold will be down very shortly."

"He's getting ready by himself?" said Tony, surprised. He had arrived early so that he would have ample time to help his father get dressed and properly prepared for the important day ahead.

"Oh yes," said Clara. "I mean, he has a few care assistants helping him, but he's managed to do a lot of it all by himself. He's having a good day," she said, lowering her tone and smiling gently. "You know, in terms of his memory. He seems very sharp today."

Tony let out a small sigh of relief. He had been worried that his father wouldn't understand the significance of today's events.

"That's great," he said. "So does he, um, fully understand what's happening, you know, the funeral?"

"I believe so. He's been talking about it all week!" replied Clara. "It's been 'Howard this' and 'Howard that'; my goodness, I almost feel like I knew the man myself!"

She laughed and Tony found himself joining in with her. He liked Clara. She was warm, bubbly and kind-hearted; gentle and understanding when Tony was struggling to cope with Harold's Alzheimer's, but firm and no-nonsense when he needed a kick up the backside to stop him moping.

"Shall I wait down here then?" Tony asked politely.

"Yes, dear," said Clara. "Just take a seat. Like I said, he shouldn't be long."

Tony had barely sat down on the chair when the lift doors opened with a merry ding and Harold stepped out into the reception, his white hair combed back neatly, creating a striking contrast with his black suit.

"Howard," he said, looking straight at Tony, and for a moment Tony's stomach sank, thinking that his father had lost grasp of reality and slipped back into his demented amnesia.

"No, Pa," he said softly, trying not to sound bitter or disappointed. "I'm Tony, remember? Tony, your son."

"Tony..." Harold's forehead creased into a frown, his mouth moving silently as the cogs whirred in his head. Suddenly, the fog in his eyes seemed to clear and he looked at Tony once more. "Tony, yes. Today is... Howard's funeral."

Tony linked arms with his father and started to guide him outside to the waiting car. He made sure to walk slowly; his father wasn't as steady on his feet as he used to be.

"That's right, Pa," he said, smiling encouragingly. "Today we're going to give Howard the burial he deserves."

"The burial... he deserves," echoed Harold.

His speech had started deteriorating rapidly in the last few months. His vocabulary was quickly diminishing and sometimes he would not understand words that Tony or the care assistants used with him. Often, he would simply repeat phrases that other people had said.

Tony bit his tongue, trying hard not to cry.

"That's right," he said. "A proper military funeral, with full military honours, just like the soldiers get."

Harold hummed happily and smiled, his whole face lighting up with innocent joy. "Like the soldiers get," he said.

Tony opened the car door and helped his father settle into the back seat, buckling up his seat belt when his father made no move to do so himself. He went around to the other side of the car and slipped in next to his father.

The chauffeur started driving slowly towards the military cemetery.

Harold was looking down at the seat belt with confusion.

"It's a seat belt," explained Tony. "It stops you from moving around while the car's moving."

Harold's eyes filled with tears. "Don't...like it. Feel... trapped."

Tony took his father's hand silently, rubbing it gently with his thumb until Harold's sniffles died down and his eyes became foggy once more. Clearly, he had forgotten about the seat belt.

"We're going to Howard's funeral," he said, looking uncertain.

Tony nodded, smiling. "That's right. There'll be flowers and soldiers and SHIELD agents, and some people will say speeches, and then we'll finally bury him, here, on American soil, imagine that!"

"Speech?" said Harold, his eyes lighting up. "Can I say a speech?"

Tony hesitated, before nodding enthusiastically. Today was for Harold, more than anyone else. "Yes, do you have something prepared? If you dictate one now, I can write it down for you, so you know what to say later?"

Harold ignored him, his eyes going misty again as he looked out of the window, watching the neighbourhood passing by.

"Howard was my brother," he said suddenly, before turning to look at Tony expectantly.

Tony stared at him for a second before realising that Harold was dictating and waiting for him to write it down. He whipped a pen and notepad from inside his suit and scribbled down the words. "Go on, that's a great start," he said, smiling encouragingly.

"Great start," echoed Harold happily, before lapsing into silence once more. He chewed on his bottom lip, his forehead creasing into a frown as he searched for the right words. "He was a... a patriot. And brave. He was a hero." He suddenly let out a laugh, his eyes lighting up as he re-lived some long ago memory. "He liked cycling. And making... toys. He made toys for us to play with. Then later he made machines."

Tony wrote down his words fervently. It was the longest coherent speech he'd heard his father say for several months. He marvelled at how powerful their brotherly bond must be, for the mere memory of Howard to be able to pull Harold out of the swirling confusion of his dementia. That was love, pure and simple.

"I missed him... for decades," Harold continued, his face crumpling with sadness. "But now he's home! Welcome home!"

He smiled eagerly at Tony and Tony patted his hand gently. "That's a great speech, Pa, well done. I'm sure Howard would have loved it."

At this, Harold beamed, settling back contentedly in his seat.

Tony leaned back in his own seat and gazed out of the window, watching as the houses gave way to orderly trees lining the roadside. The tarmac turned to white gravel, the little stones crunching underneath the car's tyres.

The car slowed to a halt and Tony got out, hurrying around to his father's side to unbuckle his seat belt and help him out of the car.

Harold held tightly onto Tony's arm, staggering upright and eventually finding his balance. He peered around the cemetery curiously, taking in the rows of gleaming white headstones, evenly spaced apart and surrounded by neatly trimmed grass. Men and women in military uniforms and black suits were starting to arrive, nodding or saluting respectfully at Harold and Tony when they passed.

"This is... the place?" he asked, looking uncertain.

"Yes, Pa," Tony explained patiently. "This is the military cemetery. This is where we're going to bury Howard."

Harold nodded solemnly. "Bury Howard," he echoed.

Tony led him slowly towards where rows of seats had been put out for the ceremony. It was to be held outside, due to the large number of people who wanted to attend. Harold and Tony's seats, naturally, were on the front row.

They had finally reached their seats, with Tony helping Harold to sit down, when Maria Hill walked up to them, dressed in a simple, smart black dress.

"My condolences, Mr. Stark," she said, shaking Harold's hand gently. "And may I say that we at SHIELD are humbled by his sacrifice."

Harold looked up at her silently, his eyes unfocused and confused.

"Thank you, Maria," said Tony, stepping in with a polite smile. "We appreciate your thoughts."

Maria smiled and bowed her head before moving away.

Harold turned to Tony, biting his lip and clearly thinking hard. "Con... Condol... Condol..."

"Condolences," said Tony. "It means that they're sorry for our loss." When Harold continued to look confused, he elaborated further. "It means that they're sad that we're sad because Howard died."

"Sad," repeated Harold, looking at his hands and frowning at them. "But I'm... not sad. Happy. Happy because Howard is back home. Back here, with us... where he belongs."

Tony put his arm around his father's shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Yes, you're right," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "Today is a happy day, isn't it?"

Harold hummed and nodded, smiling and gazing off into the distance.

Tony watched absentmindedly as a figure in a black suit sidled up to the front and placed a large bouquet of white roses by the podium where the speeches would be delivered. The man kept his back to Tony and the other guests, before quietly slipping away from the rest of the congregation.

"Your friend," said Harold. "Not guilty. I saw... on the news."

Tony clenched his fists, trying to keep his temper in check. "Steve Rogers isn't my friend," he bit out harshly.

Harold sighed and shook his head slowly. "Don't hold on to... hate," he said softly. "Rogers told you where Howard was. He brought Howard... home." He turned to look at Tony, his brown eyes clear and serious. "Howard's sacrifice... his choice. Please allow him the... dignity... of his choice."

Tony bit his lip, casting his eyes downwards.

His father was right. Howard had made his choice, and it was a choice that he should respect.

But Pietro... Pietro had not made that choice. Pietro's death, Tony could not forgive.

He sighed. There was a difference, he realised, between simply not forgiving and holding on to hate. Choosing not to forgive was a valid choice, but hatred, hatred achieved nothing.

He may not forgive Steve for his actions, but hating him did nothing but prolong his own bitterness and suffering.

"You're right, Pa," he said quietly, silently amazed at how, even now, his father still held on to his sense of kindness, despite his ever weakening grip on lucidity. "I shouldn't hate Steve."

He looked up to see the man who had left the bouquet of white roses standing with another man by the cemetery exit. The man had finally turned around at look back at Tony and the rest of the congregation, and when Tony squinted his eyes, he could make out the two figures' faces; one, blonde and blue eyed, the other, with light brown hair, and his left hand, metal, glinting in the sunlight.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. It was a text message from his bank. He put his phone back in his pocket, he could read it later.

Tony let out a small laugh as he waved at the figures.

They hesitated, before both standing up straight and giving salutes.

By the time Tony had dried his eyes and looked back up, they were gone.

 

* * *

  
It was evening, and the sun was slowly setting over the Atlantic Ocean, giving the dark blue water the illusion of being doused in sparkling orange fire.

Steve and Bucky sat on the edge of the pier on Coney Island, eating their ice creams slowly, savouring the taste.

Steve had bought vanilla, Bucky had bought lemon sorbet.

They had had a busy day.

Bucky had been waiting for him at the court house, of course, and had escorted him from the building the moment the not guilty verdict had been delivered.

Bucky swung his legs as he laid down, tilting his head back to watch the rollercoasters upside down, locals and holidaymakers screaming with delight as the carriages whizzed around the loops.

A memory tugged at him gently and he closed his eyes, keeping his breathing even as the memory began to solidify in his mind.

"We've been here before," he said quietly. "I made you go on the Cyclone. And you... Did you throw up everywhere?"

He heard Steve laugh next to him, the sound bursting with joy.

"Yes, all over you, I seem to remember," he replied, grinning.

Bucky shook his head, smiling. "I seem to have blocked that bit out. Must have been too traumatic."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.

It was the silence of familiarity, where you don't need to say anything out loud because you and the other person already know exactly what the other is thinking and feeling.

Steve closed his eyes, finally relaxing for the first time in over 70 years. A smile tugged at his lips as he briefly laid his hand on Bucky's flesh arm.

Bucky was back, Bucky was safe – all was well.

"Who's next?" Steve said eventually, pulling out his notebook and ticking two names off the list.

Beside him, Bucky pulled out his own notebook. His contained significantly more names than Steve's.

"Thomas Tuffnell," said Bucky. "He was a US Army scientist who HYDRA wanted rid of back in 1989."

He gazed out over the Atlantic, remembering how the scientist had begged for his life, tears streaming down his face, the sound of the crunch of his bones under the Winter Soldier's unforgiving metal hand.

"He has a widow and two children," he continued, his throat tight. "They live here in New York."

Steve put his arm around Bucky, rubbing his back gently as he pulled out his phone, holding it out in front of him.

"JARVIS," he said, not bothering to dial a number.

"Yes, sir," the AI replied instantly, on loudspeaker.

"Could you find out the bank account details of Thomas Tuffnell's widow and two children, please, and the location of his grave?"

Bucky wiped his eyes, giving Steve a small smile as he passed him a tissue.

"Certainly, sir," said JARVIS, starting the search immediately, his circuits letting out a burst of contentment as he watched the two men through the smartphone's camera.

Steve looked younger, JARVIS thought, now that he had finally saved Bucky and let go of his mission of vengeance.

In his mind's eye, he thought about the three of them – two flesh, one electronic but just as human – striding out into the future, carrying out their new, shared mission: atonement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU: First and foremost, thank you for reading and following this story to its conclusion. I hope you've enjoyed it! Comments and kudos are more than welcome; I love hearing from readers whatever you have to say, so don't be shy, say hi and let me know your thoughts :)
> 
> TUMBLR: I'm on Tumblr! My username is [ ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/). Feel free to follow/talk to me on there :)
> 
> STORY ART: I created a couple of graphics [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/169652020971/vengeance-a-hydracap-fic-the-thought-of-joining) and [here](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/170503464721/the-thought-of-joining-hydra-made-steve-feel-sick) to accompany this story. If you're on Tumblr, feel free to show them some love and/or share them! <3

**Author's Note:**

> OTHER STUFF I'VE WRITTEN:
> 
> If you want to get an email whenever I post something new, then click on [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991) and become a user subscriber. Be aware that this is _different_ from the Subscribe button on the top of _this_ page, which is for this story _only_ :)
> 
> Here's a list of my other stories, if you're interested:
> 
> [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words) - A Black Widow origin story. Starting when Natasha was three years old and going right up to the present day, this story explores Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and finally, an Avenger.
> 
> [Steve And Bucky's Kinky Alphabet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776473) (176,544 words) - 26 chapters of explicit porn-with-plot featuring Steve and Bucky. Or: the one where JARVIS goes rogue and kidnaps the Avengers until they can sort their mental health out, and Steve and Bucky fuck a lot and fall in love.
> 
> [Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704965) (40,706 words) - Bucky is a man with a big secret: for 70 years, he was HYDRA's weapon. Nevertheless, despite his dark past, he is trying to move on with his life and has even formed a relationship with Tony. All seems to be going well, until a security breach at SHIELD threatens to expose his past.
> 
> [At Your Service](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624802) (12,931 words) - Clint and Natasha lose a bet. Phil gets them to dress up and act out some of his many, many Captain America fanboy fantasies.
> 
> [The Adventures Of Steve Rogers, Newsboy Extraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153170) (11,161 words) - 7-year-old Steve has Selective Mutism. When Steve finds himself confronting a dangerous criminal, will he find the courage within himself to save the day - and even find his voice?
> 
> [I Like Cats, Too](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13646094) (10,526 words) - When the Avengers are torn apart by the split caused by the Sokovia Accords, a depressed Natasha lapses into a prolonged period of silence. Will anyone be able to help Natasha overcome her depression and mutism? Enter a very special cat named Midnight...
> 
> [The Black Widow Ice Cream Parlour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253527) (3,746 words) - Natasha meets one of the people whose lives she has saved, and finally gets the appreciation she deserves.
> 
> [The End Of The Line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7088617) (3,433 words) - Bucky falls from the train to his assumed death. Steve has to come to terms with a world without him in it.
> 
> [Turkish Oil Wrestling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7013452) (2,620 words) - Steve and Bucky decide to have a wrestling match to settle an old score. Cue them stripping down to their pants, getting oiled up and engaging in a vigorous wrestling match that leaves them both hot and sweaty.
> 
> [So, You Like Cats?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7046986) (1,697 words) - Sam has a confession to make. It could make or break his and T'Challa's relationship. It all comes down to one question: Do you like cats?
> 
> [In Memoriam: James Buchanan Barnes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7924684) (120 words) - A grief-stricken Steve writes a poem in honour of his best friend.


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